Pity
by Bailin D. Mercedes
Summary: Imhotep was saved by a goddess, and given a new life. He never expected to fall in love with that goddess. He never expected to go back to Egypt, or fight a Medjai chief. Or to risk his life for the O'Connell boy. But he did all those things. For her.
1. The Gift of a Goddess

The dark Underworld flew up to meet him. Nothing coursed through his mind but cursed immortal blood. He didn't think, he only knew. He knew that what they once had was not love. What they had once had was lust and passion. He had loved her, maybe...but it had been a diminutive sensation, often suppressed by larger, more time-consuming speculations, such as dealing with the human boy, Alex, and the battle with the Scorpion King.

Thoughts surfaced briefly, of the Med-Jai Warrior and his princess, and all they had done to him. Anger surfaced along with those thoughts, but another memory was already clawing its way into Imhotep's mind: that desperate moment during which he clung to the jagged edge of the crumbling stone floor, as he cried out for help, and Anck-su-namun abandoned him.

Putrefied, rotting hands grabbed at him, ripping at his clothing with cracked, yellowed nails. He felt himself slam into a boiling, writhing platform of what seemed to be mounded bodies. Pain no longer existed.

Was this how he was to spend eternity? Decaying under a pile of other decaying creatures? He said a silent prayer to Osiris and opened his eyes. What he saw was not the crimson river that had stretched out before him with heads and legs protruding from the cliff-like walls at grotesque angles.

He was sitting on a large, flat silver disc, in the midst of two dozen writhing, shimmering golden Egyptian asps. They encircled his arms and legs and midsection, and detained him from falling back into the Netherworld abyss. Over the wailing, screaming, and moaning of the dead and repentant souls that fought endlessly for their escape from Hell, there arose the free, wild cry of a falcon.

It descended into Hell majestically, a falcon who's feathers were obsidian, and who's eyes were of liquid gold. The beautiful creature stretched out its wings to a full span of at least twelve feet as it landed deftly upon the mass of snakes. At the falcon's touch, the writhing reptiles halted their movements. They transformed into solid gold, woven into intricate patterns around the disc and surrounding Imhotep.

Perplexed beyond the ability of speech, the High Priest shuffled across the disc backwards, maintaining as much distance from the enchanted falcon as he could. A golden halo had begun to radiate from the creature. As Imhotep watched with a terror-stricken expression, the golden snakes shimmered to life again, and began gliding towards the falcon.

As the Asps came upon the raptor, they deteriorated and sparkling dust whirled about the falcon, creating a vortex of glittering gold. Light shimmered from within the whirl-wind, until it became so intense that Imhotep had to shield his eyes with his hands to shelter himself from its brilliance.

As suddenly as it had come into existence, the light and the vortex of gold disappeared. In its place stood a slim, dark woman garbed in billowing black robes and a belt inlayed with a large, glittering topaz. The Crown of Isis sat upon her brow, and her glossy black hair tumbled in soft curls beneath it. The woman's features were not at all masculine or robust, yet there was a strength about her which Imhotep was momentarily unable to identify.

The Underworld had disappeared. In its place, there was complete darkness, an absence of life. Thoughts flashed through his mind as Imhotep gazed upon the enchantress before him. He glanced at her belt, her crown, and the amulet around her neck, a scarab and the emblem of Anubis. His first thought was, Priestess. But that thought was smothered as the woman's eyes progressed from their original golden hue, to a flashing silver the color of the disc they resided upon. No Priestess could have done magic of such caliber.

Her expression was changing like the dunes of the desert during a sandstorm. First, she was emotionless, like a painted statue with a lifeless facial cast, and then a smirk twisted her gold lips. She smiled kindly upon Imhotep, then gave him a disgusted look, as if she was reading his history in a book, and changed facades with every chapter.

Imhotep stood with the ease and grace given to him by immortality. Unsure of what to do with the woman, he simply watched her.

"The Gods pity you," She spoke and caught him by complete surprise, for her voice seemed to be coming from all directions at once, and several voices had combined along with one to create a strange resonance. Her dialect was so old that Imhotep himself barely recognized it, "Are you listening, High Priest?" He narrowed his eyes and nodded, "Though you attempted to bring a mortal back from the Underworld, and therefor risked breaking our trust and infuriating us, we pity you in your desperation." Imhotep wondered vaguely how he was to respond to such allegations, for how could she know of his history and whether or not it had upset his Gods?

Of course, he had already calculated the answer. Before him stood an Egyptian Goddess, one of his own from several millennia past.

"Isis and Osiris have put you in my care, Imhotep." Her features softened, and Imhotep smiled as a reassuring warmth washed over him, "I am Nephthys, Goddess of the Dead and Keeper of Immortality. I have watched over you for years," Her eyes grew dim, "But you have abused the powers we have given you. We gave you back your immortality when you were resurrected for the second time, but we will not do it again." Imhotep arched one eyebrow and gave her an uneasy look.

"Your choice is this," She waved one elegant, shimmering arm before him, and a coiled cobra covered in golden scales appeared in her hand and wrapped itself around her arm, raising its flared head to glare maliciously towards Imhotep, "Liberate yourself of Immortality and live among the mortals of present-day Earth, or," Nephthys's cobra fell to the ground and shriveled up into a black scorpion, "Live with the King of the Scorpions in the Underworld for all of Eternity." She raised her hands above her head and muttered an incantation. All magic around her vanished in an instant. Her robes, woven of fabric so soft and sleek that no mortal hand had ever touched it became draping folds of simple white silk. Her magnificent headdress became a band of golden thread, woven into a plait. But for her skin, which glowed pale bronze, she looked mortal. 

"What is your choice, Imhotep?" Nephthys grabbed his shoulders with her small yet strong hands and straightened him from his semi-crouched position. He was taller than she, something he only vaguely registered as he struggled to think of how to phrase his decision.

"I will give up my immortality, my Goddess, if that is the only way to kill the Med-Jai warrior." He whispered. The silver in Nephthys's eyes caught fire, but she only smiled, and nodded.

Once again, the goddess raised her hands to the heavens, and from them, streaks of white-hot lightning crashed down around her, though no thunder was heard in the void surrounding them. She lowered her arms and pressed her palms together, gesturing for Imhotep to hold his hands out. When her hands parted, a small, simple dagger dropped into Imhotep's palm. Faced with the dagger of Cleansing, with its familiar copper blade and scarabs crawling over the bronze hilt, Imhotep knew immediately what to do.

He slid the blade across the tender skin on his left wrist, and though the wound healed instantly, blood dripped from the dagger's edge. Nephthys took the dagger and, without any sort of warning, stabbed herself through the abdomen, though she did not scream. The dagger disintegrated, and a golden asp snaked from her wound, plunging itself into Imhotep's heart. Unearthly screams filled the empty space around the Goddess and the High Priest, and in a flash of light, they both vanished.

*A.N.~ First chapter finished. Second chapter will either be up or not...it depends on how many people review.

Now, please don't flame me for mistakes involving Nephthys. I did research and I found that she is in a way considered a Goddess of the Dead. o_O;; If you have a problem with it, be nice. And also, if you don't think Imhotep is in character, TELL ME so that I can work on making him more realistic. I based his personality on what I saw in the movies: lovestruck, curious, misled, powerful, and ever-loyal to his gods.


	2. Haste

"Honey," Rick's voice held a slight tone of exasperation, "We're gonna be late." He shrugged on the black coat that Evelyn handed to him and fastened it with the ease of one grown accustomed to buttoning tuxedo jackets. He turned to face his wife, and sighed heavily as he watched her hands fly to his bowtie to straighten it, an automated response to anxiety. When she was satisfied, stepped back, smoothed her gown, and gave him a small smile as he took her hand and pulled her to the door.

From somewhere down the hall, Alex screamed. Evelyn frowned as Rick flew to the edge of the stairway and peered down into the room below. Moments later, Alex screamed again, this time louder, more urgent, and in less than ten seconds, Rick was down the stairs and running to find his son.

The kitchen door slammed shut and the sound of small feet were heard tapping over the tiled floor. Evelyn ran down the stairs and skidded to a halt just before colliding with Rick, who stood frozen in a fighting position. She peered over his shoulder hesitantly; the room was empty.

"Rick..." Her voice was soft as she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Evelyn," Rick turned to face his wife with a sardonic look on his face.

"Dad!" Rick turned and caught Alex by the arms just before being bowled over by his ten-year-old 

son. "Dad, mum---" The look in the boy's eyes was frantic as he scrambled to stand behind his parents, "Hide me!" Rick arched an eyebrow at Alex and turned back around to step aside as another ten-year-old barreled past, straight into a cowering Alex.

"Agh! No!" Alex struggled to get away from his assailant, a small, nimble girl with long, sleek black hair and skin the color of a light, dull bronze, dressed in a long, white cotton dress in which she was able to move remarkably well.

"Hey!" Rick yelled sternly. The two children froze and turned to face Rick, "You two: behave. You:" he turned to Evelyn and grabbed her hand, "We're gonna be late."

As they burst through the front door, Evelyn pulled her wrist from Rick's grasp, quite sure she could keep up with him on her own. "You did tell the babysitter she'd have an extra child to watch, didn't you?" Evelyn inquired hastily.

"She'll figure it out." Muttered Rick as they jumped into the car and tore down the gravel path.


	3. Immortal Blood

An abyss, filled with emptiness and yet somehow bursting with life. His physical form no longer existed. Pain and pleasure entwined, coursing through his non-existent body. It was a brief sensation, and yet somehow, as he settled into a calm darkness and regained feeling in his limbs, he knew he had been given a glimpse of the world in which his ancient gods lived...

* * *

Imhotep's eyes snapped open and he looked up from his massive wooden desk to glare at the simpering secretary before him. His eyes went wide as the sharp cold air struck the back of his neck and a million strange sounds and sights met his senses. He stood swiftly, knocking his large chair over onto its side in his haste. The secretary started with fright and took several steps back, nervously smoothing her sleek brunette hair-twist. She opened her mouth but no words followed suit. Growing tired of the stranger's presence, Imhotep resorted to a simple method of dismissal all but inbred into him from his life as a High Priest, waving away the slaves that came constantly at attendance. He gave the woman a hard look and turned away. She got the message and moment later the door was softly shut behind her.

His strength was gone. He could feel the weakness that came along with the mortality, which he had, in his haste, so willingly accepted. Anger flared as he thought of the beautiful woman from whom he had received his "gift". He slammed his fists down onto the wooden desk and grunted as the pain slithered up his arms.

"Well you seem to be getting along quite well." Her voice was sarcastic. Imhotep looked up from massaging his palms to find Nephthys standing in the doorway, dressed in a strange looking dress, the likes of which he had seen many times when Meela had taken him across London. He looked down at himself very suddenly, rather surprised that he had not noticed what he was wearing, a black business suit.

"Goddess, what is all this?" Imhotep was trying very hard not to come right out and demand her answer, but he stopped short as he realized that the words coming from his mouth were not of his native tongue. He "switched" back to Egyptian with a great sense of relief, "What am I? Who am I?" Nephthys arched one fair eyebrow.

"'Goddess' is not my name." She stated sharply in the language Imhotep had rejected moments before. "My name is Nephthys, but in this world, you will address me as Amaya." Imhotep nodded obediently. "You have a mortal name as well: Marcus Lunderman. Your business is in the dealing of antiquities. You will speak in the language I speak now. And this," She gestured to the office, which had begun to grow less suffocating and claustrophobic, "Is yours." She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a stoic look, not unlike the strict expression she had previously been giving him. "Deal with it." Imhotep smirked.

"I don't know whether to thank you, or to curse you." He said softly, bowing low in respect that held a mocking tilt. Amaya raised an eyebrow and stood, still shorter than Imhotep whether or not he was mortal. He glanced up at her and smiled, and her expression relaxed a bit.

"Be careful, Marcus." She said in a soft and deceptively sweet voice. "Just because I have taken mortal form does not by any means give you the right to taunt me as you would any other woman." Imhotep's eyes widened and his smile lessened, but he did not back away as she took a step forward. She raised her eyebrows, and Imhotep, still unclear as to how to read her expressions, did not know whether she was impressed, or considering killing him. He turned, walked to the door and placed a broad-rimmed hat upon his clean-shaven head, opening the door and gesturing for Amaya to exit foremost. Amaya nodded curtly.

"Much better, Imhotep." She strode out the door.

"Marcus," Imhotep corrected softly, following her out the door.

* * *

Amaya had a test in store for her High Priest. She guided Imhotep through the streets with a deft and inbred ability to navigate. They came upon a colossal, towering structure, where large groups of stately looking men and women milled about, speaking in loud, important tones of voice.

She glanced at him quickly. He was staring at the grandeur building with awe, but not at its size, a reason that she contrived from his background. He had seen palaces that could have fit three structures, as large as the one before him, within their walls with room to spare. She smirked as she watched his attempt to override his veneration.

"What's on the outside is not what we've come to look at." Amaya stated, tugging at his sleeve, the look on her face a goading one. He smirked; maybe even gods couldn't resist a good taunt now and then.

"Then by all means, please show me what you _have_ brought me here to see." He ridiculed softly. She smirked and sauntered through the heavy, gold-embossed, arched doors, and into a magnificent concert hall, draped with red velvet and flashing with important men and women from all over England. Imhotep's hand brushed Amaya's arm with the intention of gaining her attention, not to impose.

"Such luxury," He murmured, unaware as to whether or not he was speaking to his goddess until she returned the comment with a laugh, the first one he had heard out of her since he had met her. He concentrated very hard on a stone statue to his right, so as not to let the fact that she had a lasciviously playful laugh affect him.

"You act as if you've never seen such marvels." Imhotep blinked, smiled, and followed her to a glass window where a chipper young woman stood handing out and receiving tickets.

"You act as if you're surprised that I have survived without them for so long." He replied in a voice that was a whisper. She arched an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes.

"Perhaps," She muttered as she turned to the attendant.

"Reservations for Marcus Lunderman." Amaya said with tone that implied no argument. One corner of Imhotep's mouth twitched as he realized that she had not been using that tone of voice with him. The attendant scanned over her list, and looked up again, smiling.

"Of course, ma'am. You're seats are in the front balcony, up the stairs and to the right." Amaya's nodded her thanks. "I hope you enjoy the performance, Mrs. Lunderman." It was an innocent statement, but almost immediately Imhotep could feel the anger radiating from Amaya, and he turned his head to the side to hide his smile. When the young concomitant handed Amaya the tickets, Amaya gave the girl a withering look and snatched the tickets from the attendant's hands.

As they walked up several flights of stairs and down several lush hallways, Amaya was silent, and she walked with a quick pace, making it hard for Imhotep to keep up with her without jogging alongside and looking like a complete imbecile. They reached a row of red satin curtains, and approached another perky young attendant.

She glanced at the tickets and lighted up immediately, "Mr. Lunderman! Right this way, please!" She parted an exceptionally large curtain aside and gestured for Imhotep and Amaya to enter, "If you need anything just ring!" She disappeared and left the two standing alone on a balcony overlooking the stage: a perfect view of everything.

"Mrs. Lunderman?" Imhotep arched an eyebrow and forced his expression to be scrutinizing instead of teasing. Amaya sent him a poisonous look.

"It is a common assumption of the simple-minded that a woman and a man accompanying each other anywhere must be considered as husband and wife, or man and mistress," She snapped, taking her seat and peering to her left and right to view the occupants of several other balconies. She showed little emotion as she observed the mortals around her, often muttering something obscene about the people around her that Imhotep considered an anger associated with the humans who shunned the Egyptian religion thousands of years ago.

"I do not understand."

"I do not expect you to. Not yet." She turned away from him and at the same time lowered her voice so he had to lean closer to hear her words. "I will stay in your presence for several more days in order to keep you from making any grave mistakes and allowing you to become accustomed to your life. You must realize that I have put you in a relatively similar position as that of your life in the Ancient times. You are respected and wealthy."

"That was no answer." He was surprised, and therefore Amaya did not take offense to his blunt statement. She sighed and turned to face him.

"In order to give you this life, certain things were required of me. We have laws that say that in order to give an immortal a mortal life; we must accompany them through their first steps in their mortal body." She took his hand and opened his palm, pulling out a small dagger from the many folds of her dress to slide the blade across his hand. He hissed, but she said nothing. She released her firm grip on his hand and opened her own palm, sliding the blade across it as well. She pulled his hand back open, for he had clenched it shut, and gestured to the blood that had smeared over his palm. He frowned at the pain, but forgot it as she extended her hand to show him the blood that had smeared over her hand when she, too, had clenched her fist. He froze.

His goddess was mortal.

She shook her head as if reading his thoughts, but she had only read his expression. With a quick and subtle wave of her hand over his, the blood and the pain vanished, as did her own. All that was left was a thin white scar on his palm and a thin black line that had appeared around his wrist, very similar to a tattoo.

"This is for you to remember." She smiled the first real smile he had seen from her since he had met her. "Remember that a goddess bled for you."

The lights dimmed and applause speckled through the cavernous room, but Imhotep did not notice. He could not tear his eyes from the line around his wrist. Even when Amaya gestured for him to watch the opera, he couldn't concentrate on anything but the scar, and the tattoo.


	4. To Belong

Everything around him was strange, and new, and incredible, but his dignity and pride would not allow him to yield to his curiosity. He kept silent and observed things from afar with a grave promise to examine them closer at a more convenient time.

The opera had been over quickly for him, and even then Amaya had had trouble rousing him from his daze. Now, their walk down the streets of London was slowly becoming more exhilarating, like it had been before the opera, but he made no outward notion of these feelings.

Amaya did not seem awed by what surrounded her, not that it surprised Imhotep one bit. Rather, she seemed bemused, and at times, when she thought Imhotep was not looking, her eyes would narrow ferociously and flash with hostility at a select person or object.

"What is wrong, Amaya?" Imhotep inquired at length, giving her a mildly worried glance before it was swept away at the appearance of some strange, gleeful object that had caught his attention.

"I sometimes don't understand how even native Alexandrians could have suffered the cramped spaces of their cities." Amaya replied in a low voice. Imhotep raised his eyebrows.

"That is not what's bothering you." At his statement she gave him a quick, suspicious glance. She frowned and let her darkened mood show through her neutral facade.

"You're very curious, Imhotep." She smirked and explained, "My hatred is inbred. I cannot look at these people _without_ seeing how they abandoned us, ridiculed us, and forced us into an exile where we could no longer speak to our people, we could only watch as they were scattered to the winds." Imhotep didn't answer immediately. He took a moment to really look at Amaya's expression. She had lied: she wasn't angry, she was melancholy.

"I am sorry." He said it so softly that he was afraid she had not heard him over the tumult of the streets. She looked up at him with a blank expression, and for a moment, Imhotep wondered if he had offended her in some way, but she nodded and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face before it was whisked away by some other thought that flew through her mind at that moment. Imhotep momentarily thought he saw her mouthing something and glancing up at the unusually clear, bright sky, and he imagined that she was speaking to her brethren, the gods.

They turned a corner, eluded an obnoxious little boy shouting over the noise and handing out newspapers, and entered through massive and elaborately carved gates into an intensely more silent quarter. Elegant, large, expensive houses were scattered over massive lawns and exquisite gardens. Lengthy driveways curved and twisted towards their unique mansions. Imhotep stopped in front of a dwarfing stone estate, where shadows shifted within the windows and several automobiles sat, deserted, in the warm afternoon sun. A boy frolicked amongst a grove of large Willow trees, chasing and, in turn, being chased by two playful golden puppies.

As Imhotep caught site of the boy's appearance, he stopped short. Amaya glanced at Imhotep impatiently, following his line of vision. As she saw the boy, she saw the look of pure, fathomless loathing in Imhotep's eyes. Forthwith she burst into action, and mercilessly landed a square punch into Imhotep's jaw. He growled, and took a step away from her, rubbing his jaw with a scowl on his face. She didn't give him time to say a word, but grabbed his jacket collar and all but dragged him behind the rose bushes that grew wildly over the brick fencing around the house.

"I removed you from that life and you will not get yourself involved with it again!" Amaya hissed venomously, paying no heed to the dangerous expression that had appeared on Imhotep's face. She squared her shoulders and silently loathed how tall he was, or how short she had chosen to be.

"I swore to get my revenge," He growled in return. She laughed derisively.

"You think I gave you this chance on account of revenge?" Imhotep grabbed her shoulders roughly. Amaya's cynical humor dissipated. A cast of facial stone set itself upon her features, and she looked down at his arms, then up into his eyes.

Sense flooded back into Imhotep at the very moment that it flooded from Amaya. Her eyes flashed to an electric green, her glossy obsidian hair escaped its tie and fell down her back, past her hips, and waved through the air as if under water. Power and an electric tingling sensation crawled over her body, and slid slowly up Imhotep's arms. He released her in an instant, and stepped back.

"You forget, Imhotep," She scoffed, "That no matter how mortal I look, nor how weak, I am a goddess. It would be wise for you to hinder your urges to push me around." She glided closer to Imhotep in a taunting manner. He lowered his head and averted his eyes. As she reached him, she extended her elegant hand and gently lifted his head, so as to gaze into his eyes, "I thought I made it clear to you that in this life you are an actual existing _person_, not a ghost that can wander where he pleases and kill those he wishes to die. You must realize, _mortal_, that I do not expect you to understand it now, but by Isis I swear that you _will_ understand someday." His expression was carefully blank as he waited for her fury to calm before speaking.

"I will try," He replied in a whisper. Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed as she smiled ruefully.

"No, Imhotep, you will accomplish such a task, just as you overcame so many other obstacles in your time." Imhotep looked up, blinked once, and she was gone. He gasped softly and turned to survey the street, to see where she had disappeared to. He found her leaning casually against the brick wall that had been covered in roses moments earlier. Her hair was back in its braid, and to Imhotep she looked considerably more calm. "Come," She gestured for his hand and led him several blocks down the road, until they came upon a magnificent mansion of rich, red-colored brick. 

"Four stories, and over twenty-eight rooms," Amaya pointed out. Imhotep entered and was greeted by two rather subdued maids, waiting for his hat and coat. He shrugged off his coat and then removed his jacket. Amaya stood behind him, at the door, and he could feel the weight of her eyes on him, but what he did not know was how appreciative her gaze was.

"You have a daughter." Amaya said curtly, as soon as the maids had left the two alone. Imhotep turned and gave her a horrified look. She chuckled and placed her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "She is your adopted daughter." At this Imhotep relaxed. He looked around at the grand room he now stood in, observed the massive stairs that led to the second and third floors, and turned back to Amaya.

"Are there any other things I need to know about?" He asked sarcastically, giving Amaya a slight smile.

"Just one more thing..." She faded off as she watched something over Imhotep's shoulder. He turned and found himself staring down at a child about nine years old, in a long white dress, peering up at him expectantly through strands of long black hair, very similar to Amaya's, that had blown into her face while she was running down the steps to greet her adopted father. 

Imhotep crouched down to the child's level and smiled. She blinked once, twice, and then threw her arms around his neck. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her warmly. When she squirmed out of his grip, he stood and watched her run into Amaya's arms. After their embrace, Amaya whispered something to the girl in a low voice, and the girl whispered back. Their conversation did not reach Imhotep's ears, for he was too busy trying to memorize this other and quite opposite side of Amaya, how her features were soft and her smile was one that could comfort immense sorrows. Osiris knows it comforted his. He did not even think of trying to listen to what she was saying to his adopted daughter. Finally, the two finished their talk, and the girl walked timidly back over to Imhotep. He held out his hand and she placed her small, pale hand into his. He leaned towards her as she spoke.

"Marcus, Alex invited me over to play. May I?" Imhotep fought very hard to not squeeze her small fingers as he thought of Alex and his damnable father, Rick. Anger clouded his vision, but he refused to let it get to him this time, especially not after his encounter with Amaya's fury. He focused on his daughter, and the anger slipped away. What harm could come from letting her play with Alex? None, he suspected.

After a few long moments, Imhotep smiled and nodded. "Of course." The effect of her smile then made a small knot in his stomach as she gave him a quick hug and ran up the stairs to get ready. When Imhotep stood and turned to confront Amaya, he found her standing at one of the large windows, staring at the sun as it disappeared below the horizon. Imhotep walked up beside her and waited in the growing darkness of the room for her to speak.

"I am sorry, Imhotep." Her voice was a whisper. In those words, Imhotep heard a desperation so intense that it sent a shudder through his body. He looked at her uncertainly, frowning and peering closely to see if he could make out what baffling expression it was that she wore. "It is true I did not trust you when I first met you. I had heard plenty from Anubis. But I did not know you either." She turned to face him, and as he gazed into her eyes he realized what he saw was shame. This, of course, went against everything he had learned in his past lives, for as far as he knew, gods never felt regret for their actions. "Anubis's hatred for you goes unmatched, Imhotep. Even I would not be able to stop him." Something about how she said it made him feel that she thought her words extremely ironic.

"Stop him from what?" Imhotep queried in a barely audible voice, for truly he feared the worse. Amaya closed her eyes and sighed.

"Do you enjoy this life, Imhotep?" She demanded suddenly, opening her eyes again to peer at him intensely. His fervent nod seemed to increase her anxiety. "I did not think you would." A sardonic smile lit her face, but it did not reach her eyes. "You could fit here. You could belong here if such was what you wished." It appeared that she was building up to something, a fact of which Imhotep remained stubbornly naive:

"But you will be unable to stay."


	5. Facing Off

"But you will be unable to stay."

It took several moments for her words to sink in. Was this one of her games? Was he being tested against his rage or his honor? He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited for the duration of a few breaths before replying.

"I do not understand, Amaya." Those words had come form his mouth twice, now. It angered him that he should be denied the knowledge his goddess was hoarding, but seeing the look on her face, as he moved to question her further, brought his voice to a halt. Something was going to happen that he could not possibly comprehend.

"Imhotep..." She threw her arms up as if contemplating surrender to whatever it was she was fighting against. Her hesitance was beginning to make him edgy and unnerved. She turned in a half-circle and placed her hands on the windowsill, then twisted back around and looked for a few moments like she wanted to take her hands in a gesture of pleading. Or guilt. But then she turned back away and stayed at the window while saying her next words.

"I first came to your aid because I was simply curious. I knew your power. I _know_ Osiris's power. I know what it's like to be in his favor." Her voice softened, but her gaze remained forcedly apathetic and distant, much like Anck-Su-Namun's, when, several thousand years ago, on a clear, warm night, with the pharaoh's death lingering over them like a vengeful god, he had fixed on to the piercing darkness of her eyes and realized that she meant to sacrifice herself for him. 

Oh, but how alluring his goddess's eyes were! Bent on her purpose and determined to follow through with it. She held up a hand quickly, to stall any words he was planning on speaking, as she continued, "So I decided to risk a very powerful god's anger by bringing you onto mortal Earth a third time. He realized what I planned to do, and confronted me about it. He wanted you for himself. So we compromised." The words were not easy for her. She made that clear.

Quickly, anger flared again. What was she hinting at? Did she somehow mean to barter him off; to give him up to another when she tired of him? Were mortals that unimportant, that the gods would exchange one human for another, as though they were trivial goods meant to be held for a time, and then once again traded? He ached to free these thoughts upon her in a torrent of accusation, but found himself unable as he once again looked into those poignant eyes.

"You compromised." His words were disbelieving, his voice hard to control. Nevertheless, he straightened, suddenly remembering his dignity, and smothered his incredulity. "With whom?" As soon as he said it, her finger was at his lips, calling for silence in a touch as soft as silk. Her expression was solemn as she nodded.

"Anubis." Imhotep gave a violent jerk. He stepped back from her touch, almost running into an antique rocking chair, stained to a deep mahogany and glossed with a coat of varnish that made its surface shine. It rocked backwards on its heels and welcomed Imhotep with small creaks as he sat. He closed his eyes and leaned his elbows on his knees, with his head in his hands.

She had bargained with Anubis. _Nephthys_ had bargained with Anubis! 

In the past, when Osiris had been in a foul mood, it would have ricocheted onto Imhotep, blasting him with a mind-reeling headache. He had one of those now, and the steady, subtle rocking motion of his lavish chair did nothing to improve the throbbing pain which pulsed to the rhythm of his heart.

"How did you go about this compromise?" _How dare you do this to me, Nephthys! You're selling me out! Handing me over to a bloodthirsty god who has become bent on destroying me!_

So many things he wanted to say to her; to scream at her. Why could he not? It was indeed apparent tp him that all he had said so far, by body language, had made her anxiety turn to strife. She stood alarmingly still, despite the emotions whirling through her expressions. It had not been a problem in his old life, to bring a woman to tears with the subtlest of accusations worded in the right way. (For, much to his consternation now, he _had_ done so, back then.) Why could he not bring himself to do the same to Amaya? Did she not deserve it?

But other thoughts had surfaced by the time he had sorted through those original ones. He could resent her for what she was doing. She had all but condemned him by saying that she had made some sort of pact with Anubis. He was against Anubis, the dark god, whom he had angered in another time. He could refuse to hear her out. He could very easily learn to hate her for what she had done.

Or could he? Briefly the memory of Amaya's gentleness towards his daughter emerged through all the pain of the headache. He opened his eyes and found Amaya silhouetted against the orange glow of the setting sun. The sharp twinges dulled to a subtle throb that clouded his hearing and made him suddenly very tired.

"It would be a lie to tell you that I did not have the power to stop him."

She looked at him with subdued resignation. When he frowned, a spark ignited in her eyes. Contempt? When he opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off by a cold, quiet voice.

"But maybe I never should have told you. And though I cannot blame you for feeling whatever resentment you may be feeling right now, just know that I hadn't _wanted_ to hurt you, Imhotep. Perhaps I should have let you go on with your life, blind to what would become of you in one Egyptian year, on the anniversary of your resurrection when the dark god Anubis would surface and take your into his custody. What do you think, Imhotep? Did you _deserve_ to know your fate?" She receded, not attempting to hide the triumph shining in her eyes as she watched and waited for his answer.

He stood, and ignored Amaya's grimace as though she expected that action to have been a reflex of his anger, followed by a physical blow. Could she really think he would hit her? Had she not already realized that he would never do anything that would in any way harm her? Indeed, this insight shocked _him_ as much as it would surely have shocked Amaya. If gods could hear the thoughts of mortals, then his feelings were most definitely exposed. Briefly, Amaya's eyes shot upwards, but she said nothing.

With the realization that he was much closer to his goddess than anyone would ever have imagined, Imhotep also felt the pang of guilt on his conscience. It saddened him to see her recoil from him...or from anything, no matter what. So what was the point in arguing, anyway? His muscles relaxed. His shoulders bowed slightly. He reached out and took her hand, an intimate gesture learned from years of subtle romance.

"I didn't deserve this _life_, Nephthys. But you gave it to me anyway." Amaya was silent for several moments. In the growing darkness, her smile was not immediately evident to him. But when he saw it, his most immediate reaction was relief. At least, in all of her complexity, she could comprehend gentle humor.

"Very well, then, Imhotep." She pulled her hand away, but did not take a step back. "It wasn't right of me to tell you in such a harsh way what would become of you." It was an apology, or at least, he assumed, as close to an apology as she would ever express. Her statement brought that frown back to his face.

"Yes..." He trailed off uncertainly. "In one Egyptian year---" He blinked and looked down at her with a perplexed expression. "These people use a different calendar?" Curiosity shoved doubt aside as Imhotep crossed his arms over his broad chest and tilted his head to indicate interest. Amaya grinned again and gestured for him to follow her. She turned and led him out of the entrance hall, where they had been having their dispute, and into a smaller, more welcoming and cozy room furnished with antique French furniture arranged around a large fireplace, in which a fire roared cheerfully, tended by the maids who swept in and out of the room at intervals, on miscellaneous errands.

One quick glance from Amaya, and the maids stopped their activities, hustled out of the room, and closed the doors behind them. With a small nod, Amaya indicated an exquisite armchair for Imhotep and took a seat on the large stone hearth before the fire. Her gaze was no longer hostile, nor distrusting. As Imhotep settled into the chair with an approving grin, he took the time to notice Amaya's expression. Her eyes were brighter, her smile more radiant. Could his goddess possibly have a passion for wisdom?

"These people have done many things since you were forced into the Hell of the Hom Daii, over three thousand years ago. They've re-created steam-power, like to that which you had in your time; it was lost, over one thousand years ago, before the Romans invaded Egypt and murdered the last of Horus's Chosen Ones, the Pharaohs." She made a dismissive gesture as puzzlement dawned on Imhotep's face. 

"The destruction of our link to the mortals was disastrous." A sigh escaped her lips and her smile faded very quickly, giving Imhotep a glimpse at the turmoil beneath the surface of her beauty. 

"Beloved little child. She was called the Queen of Kings. But we had our revenge upon the Romans. They crumbled at our hand..." A spark ignited within her eyes. Imhotep had seen it many times before. He knew now when to stay silent and when to speak.

"Aside from that, however, they have shunned the gods, tarnished our sacred temples, and desecrated the tombs of our Chosen Ones! These people continue to pollute this world and step all over it like it is a rag, unworthy of their attention when it is this very _Earth_ that brought life to them in the first place!" By staying speechless and very still, Imhotep let her anger burn out with peaceful dignity. He gazed at her with a plastered expression, one that would not betray his emotions.

"You've strayed from the subject, Amaya." Imhotep made sure he added a hint of playful chastise in his level voice. He rested his elbows on the plush armrests and clasped his hands together, giving her his now complete, I'm-superior-to-you look, a much-used talent of and in his previous life.

Amaya arched an eyebrow and smirked. "So I have." Her voice was low, signifying her receding anger. When she stood, her movements were fluid and controlled, like always, and yet sadness still lingered in her eyes. "It is hard for me to tell you this...I knew it would be since the moment I gave you that--" She had been making her way slowly to his side and now took his arm and pushed the sleeve of his shirt back to point out the thin scar that encircled his wrist.

"--But I will tell you anyway." She attempted a small smile and released his wrist. "In one Egyptian year, on the date of your resurrection, my claim over you will officially end. Anubis will then have free entitlement to your soul, to deal with you as he pleases."

He tensed, muscles coiling in derision as Amaya spoke aloud his verdict, as if voicing it into words carved it into stone. All he could do to declare his resignation was to allow a heavy sigh to escape his lips. Hope was lost. He was doomed.

But somehow, through all of that doubt, thoughts of adaptation arose. Had he not conquered his ancient homelands' most secret magics? Was he not the one who had, through hatred and despise, kept an entire race of Egyptian warriors alive throughout three millenia? From those thoughts bloomed hope, and eagerness. Imhotep had always been good at making the best out of the worst possible things.

He held his hands up, palms facing his goddess in a sign of mock surrender.

"Then I will go into his custody willingly." This alone shocked Amaya so badly that for a moment, she looked as if she were about to faint. "You heard right, Amaya. I will not fight him." The adrenaline was rushing now. Nothing could nor would stop him. Anubis was a far off nightmare. No threat to Osiris's former High Priest.

"Imhotep, I want you to know that I find these drastic mood swings of yours _extremely_ exhausting." Sarcasm laced Amaya's voice. Sarcasm was how she reacted to uncertainty...to unease.

"Amaya," he said softly, "I have one year starting today to discover what this new world has to offer me." As he got up, she rose with him, and they stood for several moments in solemn silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire contained within the hearth.

"I intend to get started very soon, Amaya." Imhotep took a step forward and gave her an expectant look, eyebrows raised, smile subdued. "Like...now." Amaya chuckled and took Imhotep's arm as he offered it.

"Very well, Marcus. First, I want you to come see Buckingham Palace." She lowered her voice a bit and gave him a mischievous look. "But don't get your hopes up. This palace is not the kind you knew." Imhotep arched an eyebrow as he led Amaya through the French glass doors that opened up to a ground-level balcony, which, in turn, opened around to the front of the house, where a compact little black car sat illuminated by the lamps that lined the driveway.

Imhotep grinned as he helped Amaya into the car and nodded to the driver who stood at attention by the nearest lamppost.

"What is my daughter's name?" The question caught both Amaya and the driver by complete and total surprise.

"Azana," was Amaya's soft reply. Imhotep could not see her expression, for he was already hidden in the darkness inside the car. Imhotep turned his gaze to his driver and smirked.

"I'll need someone to pick Azana up later tonight." The driver knotted his brows and frowned, nodding. "Tell her we'll be back tomorrow afternoon."

****

Author's Note:

I am a MAJOR Cleopatra fanatic (the long-dead Queen, not the singer) so, obviously, I had to find _some_ way to mention her (however briefly) in this story... Forgive me... ^_^

I'm going out on a limb by adding that little "re-creation". I'm not sure about it at all, but supposedly, the Ancient Egyptians were extremely technologically advanced. Writer's license, right? No flames, please. ^_^;; 

And by the way...I HAVE NO IDEA IF I SPELLED IMHOTEP'S CURSE RIGHT!! ;-; If Hom Daii is not the right way it is spelled, then PLEASE leave a review correcting my mistake... (and be nice about it...)


	6. Reflecting

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Author's Note: Due to the drastic subject changes that commence during this chapter, I have taken the liberty of dividing them for the convenience of you, the reader. If at any random point, you happen to see , it means that Imhotep is jumping to a _completely_ new and/or different subject, and/or time frame. It's still his POV, mind you! ^_^; -The Author

As days passed, Imhotep found it a growing struggle to become less attached to his surroundings. When the time would come for him to leave and for Amaya to replace his soul with another's, he had promised himself he would go without despair. And therefore, he could never allow himself to despair at all.

Though he tried desperately not to, Imhotep eventually became rather accustomed to his unreservedly monotonous life. Every morning, he would wake at seven, dress, and go downstairs to join Amaya and Azana at breakfast. Despite the fact that Amaya and he did not share a room, they acted as much as she would let them like a married couple, so at breakfast, as he sat, he would lean over and place a small kiss on her cheek. Who's to say she didn't like it? At present, he thought he would never know, because at the exact time he would take his seat, Azana would jump from her chair and hurry over to give Imhotep a hug as big as her small arms could manage. She was strong for her age, something any father would be proud of.

But he could not allow himself to think such thoughts. Once started, he feared he would be unable to stop. Allowing himself to love the child, he was sure, would prove to be a mistake that would cost him tears.

Thousands of years ago, on the night of _her_ suicide, he had shed the only tears he vowed he would ever shed again. That weakness had cost him his first life, the one in which _he_ had held the power; _he_ had been the master.

What had he lost back then? What had he sacrificed that had cost her everything? At Anck-su-Namun's first death, she was changed. She was no longer the woman he had fallen in love with; confident, cunning, and intelligent. When resurrected for the third time, she had been naive, stubborn, and above all, weak. The land of the dead had softened the edges of all those traits he had so proudly beheld within her.

When he caught himself thinking these thoughts, it never failed to anger him. Of course, being the sensible person he was, Imhotep saw himself as a hypocrite: on one hand, Anck-su-Namun had betrayed him, but in a way he still loved her; then he thought of Amaya, who was everything Anck-su-Namun no longer was, and he knew, despite his efforts against it, that he felt a love for her as well. So did this mean that he loved Amaya because she reminded him of Anck-su-Namun?

Or had he just been in love with Anck-su-Namun because he had imagined within her the very traits he adored in his goddess? That would mean he loved Amaya, and quite unconditionally. It goes without saying that this was one of the most forbidden things known to mortals; to love a god...

At eight thirty, Imhotep would say his goodbyes and proceed down the street. He always walked to work. It hadn't taken him long to realize that riding in a car inhibited the ability to randomly stop and inspect things at close range. It was amazing how friendly one could become when surrounded by lives so indignant to what he had done in his past.

As usual, his walk led him past the home of the O'Connells. Already, cars passed through the street that intersected the family's gravel driveway. The noise had become something Imhotep grew accustomed to, like so many other things. In a way, he could liken it to Egypt, minus the tingling hum of electricity which Imhotep, not born into a world with such a marvel, felt at the back of his mind constantly. The rosebushes that stretched over the brick wall lining the O'Connells' property had just reached the season for growth, and small white buds speckled the leafy green and clay backdrop.

White roses. Imhotep often thought it odd that a man like Rick would allow something so corrupt into his world. Despite the fact of never personally knowing the man, Imhotep had picked up, from their brief encounters, that Rick O'Connell was not one to tolerate unscrupulousness. And despite their beauty, white roses were far from perfect, whereas red roses passed for flawless in the eyes of any man who had grown accustomed to blood. Red was a color Imhotep had adored for as long as he could remember.

Imhotep had only reached the edge of the brick wall. The cast-iron gates embellished with a swirly "O" at their center were pushed open. Laughter floated through the cool breeze, and the voices of three carefree people. Alex's two dogs yipped and barked at various intervals.

Evelyn appeared at the gates at about the same time that Imhotep was walking past. The silly grin on her face, which often appeared when she was around her husband, faltered almost instantly. She stopped dead in her tracks, oblivious to Alex's inquiries from far behind. Something flitted within her eyes; something along the lines of recognition. Her brow furrowed and she looked at him as if trying to remember what class they had attended together in grade school.

But of course, they had never attended grade school together. Imhotep had nearly sacrificed Evelynn in the Temple of Hamunaptra, which would explain her twisted remembrance.

When he saw her stance and attitude, Imhotep knew any slip-up, snarl or even frown, would tip her off and cause imminent disaster. He did not break stride, but he looked up into her eyes with the false innocence of a child who just found out where mommy hides the cookies and is being confronted by big brother. He smiled charmingly, and tipped his hat to her in greeting, pretending to ignore the astonished look on her face, as if such was perfectly normal.

The feeling of accomplishment that spread through his mind as he rounded a corner and passed out of sight made him smile wryly. What was the fault in elation when the look on her face was absolutely priceless?

If Amaya had been there to see it, two things could have happened: she would have laughed or she would have lectured. Amazing that she had managed to keep herself so unpredictable while in the company of a man who had spent his entire life learning the art of court intrigue; the simple system of watch, learn, calculate, and blackmail.

He shook his head slightly. Every chance they got, his thoughts strayed to Amaya. In his mind's eye he could see her sitting on the brick hearth with a fire to her back, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other; wrapped in a thick black cotton robe so large on her, the sleeves had to be pushed back to her forearms. It really belonged to him, and she had borrowed it from his closet several days before and never offered it back. Not that he minded; nor would he push her to return it, for he didn't really need it...

During the first snow of winter the previous year, Imhotep had been woken at three in the morning by an exhilarated Azana. She jumped up and down so much he feared she'd get a headache, and when he finally managed to get a single sentence out of her, he realized he had no idea what it was she spoke of. He remember tentatively stepping out onto the balcony of his room and beholding his world transformed to the likeness of the realm of the immortals. Everything sparkled and glowed with such purity it made his eyes hurt. The sun painted demented patterns over the white lawn in magnificent reds and oranges.

Imhotep was quite sure Amaya had been amused by his fascination with the snow. It was cold, unlike anything he had ever experienced. In his ancient time, the only thing that had been cold was the flat of a blade or a sheet of copper, which felt cool and smooth when pressed to the skin on the hottest days of summer. This cold was one that numbed the tips of his fingers, and tasted like the bite of winter winds on the tip of his tongue.

London's winter was long, and ran far into spring. Summer was mildly warm, and clouds stalked the sky often. In truth, he had yet to get used to the only occasional glimpses of sunlight caught throughout the day. Even the wind seemed morose about the absence of its fiery aerial companion, singing in a low tone through the streets, picking up discarded newspapers and twirling them over the wet road.

Imhotep stepped into his office and rewarded his secretary with a brief smile. She greeted him a bit excessively before returning to whatever it was she was currently working at. When he had finally taken the time to apologize for scaring the bejeezus out of her that first morning of his mortal life, he found she could be very friendly when she was certain he was in a good mood.

There was little to do in his office; little to do that day. Time passed slowly, and by some sort of miracle, the sun had begun to shine by midday, setting all London-goers, including Imhotep, into a blithe, cheerful disposition. Shoving pen and paper down onto his desk, Imhotep grabbed his coat and walked out onto a bustling sidewalk. The wind had settled down to near nothing, but when it did pop up, it was excessively warm and comfortable.

Without warning, a scrawny, malnourished-looking youth appeared at Imhotep's side about half-a block from Imhotep's destination, a favored eating spot he had treated his 'wife' and child to several times before. Pity nagged at him mercilessly. All the boy wanted was a few coins. Such things Imhotep could easily part with.

In exchange, the boy handed Imhotep a flyer and was gone. With little interest, Imhotep looked down at the crisply folded paper in his hands and scanned through the short paragraph without looking over the picture that accompanied it.

When his eyes caught the name _Nephthys_, Imhotep did a double-take and began hastily rereading the leaflet. It was from the British Museum. New artifacts had recently been imported from Egypt, an entire showcase of items from the ancient world, all that had ever been uncovered about the Sister of Isis; Mother of Anubis; Keeper of Immortality; Nephthys.

He felt himself grinning. Amaya appeared in his mind...how he knew she would look by this time of day, obsidian hair swept back from her face, a mild, comfortably stylish dress, and that wonderful smile she always had when she greeted Azana home from school. And then, later that afternoon, depending on their plans, she would dress appropriately for an important dinner, or a prestigious ball. Many of her gowns were black, which made her blazing green eyes shine like emeralds, or white, which made her look like a fallen angel: half saintly and pure, half devilish and mischievous. Her skin remained a firm, light copper or bronze color, though the pale mortals of England paid little or no attention to her quite exotic facade.

But when she danced, all eyes turned to the lithe beauty that Imhotep so often held in his arms. She smelled of jasmine, an oil she had bought on a trip to Morocco several weeks earlier, and he could only hope she never found out how much he loved that scent.

_Gods, that woman could entice a eunuch._

Imhotep's feet melded to the pavement. He heard the mumbled curse of the man who had been walking behind him, nearly colliding into Imhotep's back as a result of Imhotep's abrupt stop. But this barely registered through the sudden feelings that had just roared to life within Imhotep's mind.

Had he just thought that?!

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Author's Note: WoO buddy! If he did, he's in some DEEP sh!t. O_O;; Alright, time for you to click that cute little button right down there...and leave me some good feedback. ^_^

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| | | | **-The Author**

V V V V


	7. Sunny Afternoon

Author's note : I'm hoping to be able to draw _Pity_ to a conclusion sometime soon, though I'm not quite sure. My thanks to those who answered my previous plea with the good advice I so pleasantly asked for. ^_^ 

The _real_ Chapter Seven, for your enjoyment: 

It was impossible. Some demon had intruded into his mind and fed to him those lascivious thoughts. Never before had he likened his wonderful goddess to a seductress. In truth, she kept him on his toes so much, he had begun to think of her more as his current pharaoh.

As a natural human reaction, Imhotep's consciousness sought to blame Amaya for everything. What did she think? Was she _trying_ to do this to him? Did she not realize that if she was irresistible to other men, she would be irresistible to him as well? Then again, these feelings had not plagued him before.

Before what? Before he had begun to realize that he, a mortal cursed by Anubis and shunned by Osiris, had fallen in love with a goddess whom he had no right to even glance upon in the least corrupt manner.

Even as he unglued his feet from the sidewalk and continued on his way to the Cafe at which he still planned to dine, questions plagued him. Everything he had queried over in the past months. All of them were unanswerable by him. Maybe one day in the future, before his time on the mortal Earth was over, he would gather enough courage to ask Amaya.

Would Azana even realize he was gone? Damnation! Sorrow always struck at the most inopportune times, as it did now. His beautiful daughter had begun to mean everything to him, and he could no longer deny it to himself.

And his wife, and home, and friends. They were his entire life now. Not only had he grown dependant on their love, but they had subtly changed his personality. He was much more social now than he had been when he had first become Marcus Lunderman. As Amaya had so blatantly explained to him one evening during their meal, he had grown in popularity because he retained all the traits that present-day mortals were attracted to: he was pleasing to look at and pleasing to listen to; he had an excellent sense of humor, when he chose to use it, and a striking charm that was rarely found in humans. He was very intelligent, and was on his way to being downright friendly.

None of those words had been his. They had passed through Amaya's lips, and despite his disbelief in both the fact that she felt this of him and that it was true, he was hardly in a state to deny her _anything_. 

He continued to make new acquaintances -- which gradually grew into friends. Close friends with whom he and Amaya had shared countless hours of talking and laughing and joking.

Gods, he hadn't had so many friends in Egypt. He had had servants, a deity, and a master and that was that. Friends in court stabbed you in the back, and friends on the street and in the palace sought only to further their own status or wealth. But the friends he had in this world had their own share, and didn't care for nor try to take anything that belonged to him by right unless he offered it to them.

Maybe Amaya had something to do with that. Perhaps she had influenced only the most reputable of persons to become his comrades.

But were not the O'Connells a respectable family? Why then, delay Imhotep's meeting with them unless to make sure that Imhotep would not lunge for Rick and rip his heart out given first chance?

Subconsciously, Imhotep felt his fingers flex in his pockets. That wouldn't be a bad idea, actually. But, of course, Amaya would surely send him straight to the Underworld for such savage behavior. And how would that have helped anything? He wasn't _looking_ to be damned for eternity; he just wanted to give Rick a piece of what he deserved, what for ruining Imhotep's plans of world domination and all.

Laughter bubbled up inside him, but only a smile made its way to the surface. That smile was both grim and amused. Of course he wouldn't mind being ruler of the Earth, but he had a strong hunch that Amaya wouldn't let him keep Azana if he tried to take over again, and no worse punishment could be given to Imhotep than the deficiency of wife and daughter.

By the time Imhotep reached the Cafe, he had lost his appetite, but since he enjoyed the location so much, he decided to stay and have a drink. He quickly found an empty table and made himself comfortable in the cushioned wicker chair. A paperboy wandered by and Imhotep exchanged a few more coins for a slightly damp newspaper.

A trick he had learned while sitting at that spot, his favorite seat in the entire restaurant, was that he could see every single thing that went on around him with a few simple glances. With the sun out, the umbrellas that usually stretched over the tables had been taken down to let guests enjoy the warmth while it lasted, thus improving the expansive view.

The Cafe Indigo was set in the corner of a park just north of Imhotep's office, and a short brick wall separated the park from the street that circled it. Throughout the commons, children frolicked through the eternally green grass, while many of their parents enjoyed the coffee and magnificent wine that the Cafe served on weekdays at lunch. Chairs and tables were spread wide and open in order to allow guests and waiters easy access to every table. Lovers and groups of friends loitered at the elegant fountains that sparkled in the now proudly beaming noonday sun.

Everything seemed more beautiful when he was dwelling on Anubis and the agony that most certainly waited for Imhotep at the end of this Egyptian year. Though not an easy subject to approach, Imhotep still wondered what sort of torture Anubis had in store for him. Unlike almost all mortals, Imhotep knew what kinds of games his gods played with the humans they were displeased with, and how they liked to play them. Sadism was a word that was most commonly used to describe it.

Despite the fact that it was rather quiet, Imhotep was still surprised when a hand clapped down over his shoulder. He sat up quickly and turned in his chair to confront his visitor. He was nearly eye level with the man who stood at his back, with a curly mustache and cheerful blue eyes that seemed to squint out from his pudgy face. 

It had come as a shock when this man had first laid a finger on Imhotep in a good-humored attempt to startle. That was several days into Imhotep's new life, and he had not yet had the chance to rein in his split-second instincts. Unfortunately, those instincts were, at the time, to whirl around, grab his assailant by the neck, and lock him in such a position that one movement to the left or right would crack the spine in two.

After Amaya had managed to pry Imhotep from his deadly stance, she had properly introduced the two, and they had been friends ever since.

"Good afternoon, Arthur." Said Imhotep in an amused voice. The jovial man grinned and sat down in an opposite chair, crossing his right foot onto his left knee and reaching for one of the discarded newspaper sections to scan over.

"Wonderful day, Marcus. Absolutely beautiful." Arthur replied in that paradoxical way he had of speaking. "I trust you've been going along alright?"

Imhotep smiled and leaned forward, shifting position as he, too, reached for a different segment in the paper. "Well, I'm not dead yet," He countered softly. Arthur chuckled, but his eyes met Imhotep's and something along the lines of understanding passed between them in secret. Here were two men who truly respected life, and both for very different reasons.

Arthur had lost his wife, brother-in-law, and three daughters to a slow, rare, painful and chronic illness a little over seven years earlier. He had suffered through every attorney, doctor, and medical examiner in England who had traveled miles at a time to question him about everything that had happened during the last days of his families' lives. How could one go through so much pain and _not_ realize the true frailty of life?

And of course, Imhotep had maybe seven months, tops, of his own existence left until...eternal torment. But after being faced with that sentence for weeks already, Imhotep had become a master of shoving it into the back of his mind and moving on to different subjects. 

"Have you heard of the new showcase at the museum?" Arthur snorted at this, but not rudely, and continued to examine an article about shipping delays in London due to storms off the coast.

"Of course I have. Evelyn's spoken of nothing more ever since those fossils were transported here last month." Unlike Imhotep, Arthur was very engaged with the O'Connells, and often stopped by at Imhotep's home to say hello after an evening of entertainment at Evelyn and Rick's mansion. "Nothing but a few boxes of melted sand and brittle seashells, if you ask me." He muttered. Imhotep nodded in compliance, but said nothing.

Arthur held no interest at all in the past, for it had brought him only pain. He often avoided it as much as possible, so it came as a wonder that he was such good friends with the relic-loving, grave-robbing, tomb-plundering O'Connells.

Two cups of steaming hot coffee were set gently onto the table by a young man in a black long-sleeved shirt and dark brown slacks. He smiled at the two men and indicated that the coffee had been ordered under Arthur's tab. Imhotep nodded and took the cup.

If there was one thing the gods had truly blessed the mortals with, it wasn't coffee. Imhotep still hadn't developed a taste for it, but Amaya had indicated very clearly that he was to drink it, and so he did, without quarrel.

"You should take Amaya to see it." Arthur peered at his comrade from over the lid of his mug, the creases in the corners of his eyes indicating very clearly his mischievous smile. "She enjoys that sort of thing, eh?" Arthur was just that kind of friend. To him, there was never enough love in a friend's relationship. But Imhotep tolerated it because on other subjects, Arthur was a fascinating debater.

"She does." Imhotep replied, with a grin he could only hope was casual. Arthur let the thought hover in the air for several moments, despite Imhotep's semi-obvious discomfort. Finally, he cleared his throat and sat up straighter, indicating a change of subject matter.

"Evelyn took the day off. Could be around here somewhere. She's been talking about another trip to Egypt next month." He paused, frowned, and raised an eyebrow at Imhotep. "Might as well move there. I don't see the good in keeping a home in England other than to keep citizenship in England. And even _that_ is cheaper in America." They both laughed softly. Imhotep had yet to see America, which was maybe third on the list he had created in his mind, of things to do and see while he still had the chance.

But Egypt was a different story. To see his beloved temples in ruins had saddened him enough the last two times he'd been there. No doubt, the ancient gods were displeased. No wonder Amaya was so bitter.

He glanced at his watch and stood up with an apologetic smile. Azana would be arriving home from school in several minutes. He wanted to be there today, to see her.

"If you would excuse me Arthur, I shall be off to see my daughter home from school." Arthur smiled heartily and stood as well, extending his hand to grasp Imhotep's with a strength that many, though not Imhotep, wouldn't expect of the portly man.

"A lucky man, he that can spend half an hour and work and then be able to enjoy the rest of this fine, fair day without a care." Imhotep tilted his head at the muted jealous tone he heard in his friend's voice. Arthur shook it off with a kind smile. "Give your wife my regards."

"Certainly." Imhotep hesitated, fighting the urge to say the same to him. But of course, this was impossible. Arthur's wife was dead. "Good day, Arthur." They nodded in farewell, and went their separate ways.


	8. When She is Strong

****

Author's Note - 

Many, many thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed Chapter Seven: Kat G, Mija, MBooker, Tasha, Buffelyn (all must read her stories!), Eviefan, Auroreia, and Alibabab. I love you guys!! ^__^;; (If I left anyone out, I love you guys too!)

I know it's been a while...a very, very _long_ while. I've been struggling with different ideas for plots... Still not sure actually... and I'm SO sorry for the delay. I think the story might evolve into a romance! *dodges the rotten vegetables thrown at her* ^_^;; Hehe...

This time, whenever you see it means there has been a change from Imhotep's point-of-view to Amaya's...

Imhotep kept his pace quick as he weaved through the people loitering on the sidewalks in the comfortable shade of the buildings. He usually didn't have trouble avoiding collisions; most of the time, people were kind enough to step out of his way and let him pass, or even part to let him through. Today there was little difference.

Big Ben loudly announced the arrival of three o'clock with the steady clanging of the great bell he held somewhere inside of him. Several heads turned in the direction of the clock, almost as if to acknowledge Big Ben's accuracy. Imhotep knew how marvelous that timepiece was, and he did have a fascination with it, but now he was racing against it, for as interesting as it may be, it doesn't slow down for anyone.

By the time the last peal of Big Ben's bell had completely died away on the wind, Imhotep had made his way to the entrance of the grand neighborhood in which he lived. He allowed himself a small grin as he thought of what Amaya might say when he showed up, and strode through the arched gateway, eager to get home.

Amaya stepped out into the bright sunlight and smiled at the warmth she felt envelop her. The mica and quartz in the gravel twinkled like a thousand little gems, winking up at the sun gaily. Shielding her eyes, Amaya peered down the driveway towards the small figure she saw skipping in her direction.

Azana's bag was hanging on her shoulder, and in her left hand she held a huge red flower, which despite her carefree step, she grasped vigilantly. 

"Hallo mom!" Called the girl from about halfway down the driveway, using her free hand to wave up at Amaya with great excitement.

"Hello dear," Amaya replied with a smile, waving back just as cheerfully. She leaned down and caught Azana in a big hug as she finally reached the house. "Have a good day?"

"Somewhat," replied the girl with a small smile. "It's so nice outside, and I was stuck _inside_ all morning." Amaya gave her a grin. "Oh, and I made this for you and father." She eagerly handed over the blood-red rose, received a kiss of thanks from her Amaya, and hurried inside to be rid of her backpack and school clothes.

Once the little one had gone inside, Amaya turned her attention to the flower. She peered at it closely, a hint of suspicion gleaming in her eyes. It was perfect; flawless even. Each petal was perfectly formed, perfectly placed; the leaves were soft and well shaped.

"Azana," she called, waiting several moments before receiving a call in answer. She looked up at an open window on the second floor and saw the girl leaning out of it to see what was required of her. Amaya smiled and asked, "Where did you get this?" She held up the rose to indicate the subject of which she spoke.

"I found it, laying on the sidewalk near Alex's house!" Amaya nodded in comprehension. "Mum? Can we go to the library tonight?"

Amaya smiled up at her daughter. "We'll see. It depends on when your father gets home."

"Daddy!" Azana squealed a moment later, pointing behind her mother, who turned around to find Imhotep standing several feet away, smiling at her mischievously.

"I'm home," he said softly, winking. Amaya put her hands on her hips, careful not to crush the rose, and narrowed her eyes.

"How did you get up here without me hearing you?" She demanded playfully. His grin widened and he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hello, love!" He waved up at his daughter with a grin and waited the mere twenty seconds it was until Azana came flying through the front door and into his arms. Imhotep stole a glance towards Amaya over his daughter's shoulder and sighed. "I left work early," he admitted, setting Azana back down to converse with his 'wife'.

Much to his surprise, her stern expression lit up into a smile and she said, "Slacking off, eh?" Her eyes glinted with laughter and she added in a lowered voice, "I must be spoiling you."

Imhotep chuckled. He took Azana's hand and led them all into the house. Azana plopped down onto the nearest couch and waited for her parents to settle around her.

"Can we go to the library tonight, dad?" Imhotep smiled and glanced to Amaya, who tilted her head and gave him an affectionate grin.

"I don't see why not," he replied with a soft tone. He seemed to have become hypnotized by her gaze, and only managed to shake off the effect of his daze by blinking rapidly and turning his attention back to Azana. She beamed up at him eagerly.

"However," Amaya spoke up with a solid tone, "you have homework to do, little one." Azana's smile disappeared, and a look of dismay cast itself upon her face.

"Go on," Imhotep urged gently, "The library can wait." Azana heaved a dramatic sigh and exited to her room. When she was gone, he turned back to the goddess that sat across from him and gave her another smile. "Who gave you that?" He queried, pointing to the rose.

"Your daughter," she replied. "She...found it." The uncertainty in her voice was somehow overlooked by Imhotep as he took the rose, examining it tenderly.

"It's beautiful," he muttered, giving her a brief smile. Amaya tilted her head slightly. Just one more phrase of his to add to her already enormous list of 'things she never thought she'd hear Imhotep say'. She didn't realize that the look on her face mirrored her thoughts until she heard him chuckle and ask, "You are surprised...?"

She shrugged quickly, meeting his gaze with a grin. "I never thought of you as the kind of person who would like flowers," she replied in a nonchalant manner. She saw his expression change to a subtler one, and she quickly realized that he was recalling his past. She had seen that look so often before on the mortals she had confronted in her vast lifetime. It was always so important to them.

"When I was a child, it was rare to see many flowers, much less these," he gestured to the blood hued blossom that he held and sighed. "The only time I ever saw a red rose was on the day of Seti's ascension to the throne." The hatred in his voice made Amaya shudder. He set the rose gently onto the glass coffee table. "They were shipped from the farthest port on the Nile of the Lower Kingdom, and set in golden vases made by the most magnificent artisans..." On a whim, Amaya reached out and touched his shoulder. He gave her a heart-melting smile that made her suddenly wish so badly that it would be justified for her to relax, to sink into his arms. 

In a hug...of course...

"So, are you going to accompany Azana and myself to the library?" He'd changed the subject, 

something he was quite good at.

"Actually, I have several things I must to see to. I'll stay." She gave him an apologetic smile and stood. He followed suit.

"I will see you later tonight, then," he said softly. Something about his voice... Amaya looked up and caught the last of a faint spark in his eye. What...?

"Yes," she replied in kind, "certainly." Silence hung in the air. For a brief moment, she started to feel the nagging sensation that she was missing something...a phrase maybe. Something wasn't being said that direly needed to be.

"Mum? You going?" Azana had appeared at the foot of the stairs. Imhotep grinned at Amaya.

"Your mother has things that need to be done." He answered, taking his daughter's hand.

"Okay," the girl replied, blowing Amaya a playful kiss and giggling. Amaya smiled. She turned to face Imhotep, and sighed when she remembered that their departure would be formal. A handshake, maybe, or a brief hug.

"We'll be back soon," he said softly, giving her another wink. The effect of his attention surprised her. She felt warmth spread through her body. Even when she realized she was smiling wistfully, she did nothing to try and conceal it.

When Azana finally managed to drag her father out the door, and Amaya was finally left alone in the house, she immediately sought the confines of her bedroom. Her bed was covered in large, richly colored pillows into which she sank gratefully. Her eyes drifted shut, separating her from the mortal world as her thoughts took over her attention.

Feelings unlike any she'd had in a very long time were resurfacing within her mind. Feelings that, for centuries, had lain dormant at the back of her head, waiting for the time when they would spring again, unexpected an unwelcome, just how they most often arose. 

_Nephthys, you've made one hell of a mistake_, she accused herself as she realized the consequences of what she was thinking. _If anyone---any _god_---ever found out about this, you will have damned both Imhotep and yourself._ Doubt arose briefly. How would she face her sister? How would she face her _son_?

How could her story ever have a happy ending?

A picture of Imhotep and Azana surfaced within her head, both smiling; both so happy, and a grim, determined outlook settled slowly over her. Never would anything happen to them or their happiness. Never would she allow anyone, mortal and god alike, to harm them. Let her own son cast her down into the flaming underworld over which he ruled, but _never_ would she let him hurt Imhotep.

Amaya smiled. Strength of will was something she was well known for. None would stop her from protecting them; none _could_.

**Nephthys!** A cold voice leered from all around her at once. It was a menacing sort of hiss that set Amaya on her guard instantly. She tensed, eyes snapping open to glance around her quickly. The room was empty, but the voice spoke again, and its following words shocked her beyond speech: **You're in love with the Cursed One!**

Author's Note -

^_^ More will be up eventually!


	9. Enter the Gods

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! Happy Holidays to everyone, and special blessings to all of you who so patiently waited for me to get my scrambled thoughts together long enough to write this chapter _and plan out nearly all of the rest of the story. New characters in this chapter, and a few surprises, so I hope you like it. Enjoy!_

*        *        *

                Someone was crying. Painful sobs echoed through the air, growing gradually louder until they managed to pierce through the cloud of sleep that had descended over him. His eyes snapped open, mind racing to understand what was happening. Was the camp under attack? Were there intruders? Had someone died?

                Ardeth sat up, threw his woolen blanket aside, and all but ripped the door of his tent down in his haste to exit.

                His eyes panned the horizon, widening with ever passing second. Disbelief was written across his features. His jaw dropped open, and his arms fell limp to his sides.

                Bodies. The ground was littered with the bodies of thousands. Every inch of rolling desert sand was soaked with deep crimson blood. He tried to call out, to see if any still lived, but his voice caught in his throat, and all that escaped was a guttural moan. The sobbing that had woken him floated by again, carried on a warm breeze. It was a desolate sort of cry, one that made his heart ache with uneasiness. Who could be burdened with so much sadness?

                Something glittered out of the corner of his eyes. His head snapped around to see what it was, and he watched in silence as the sun rose above the horizon, shedding light on the carnage. 

                The sun's warm comfort didn't help much, though. It was red. Not just the light it gave off, but the sun in itself was a shining red sphere creeping up the sky. What had happened here?! What world had he been thrust into?

                His answer came in a whisper, maybe even in his mind.

                _It is a path, you see before you, Medjai. A path that might be taken should the Cursed One be blessed with immortality once more._ Anger flared within Ardeth. His eyes burned with the fire of hatred at the mention of the one man who had managed to be a pain in the ass, to Ardeth and to his people, like no other before him. He who just wouldn't _die_.

                "Who are you?" Ardeth demanded, searching again the horizon, the sand, and the sky for a source of this voice. "How do you know about Imhotep?"

                _Calm yourself, Medjai. Demand nothing of me. I am a god, shunned by conquerors long dead, and forgotten by all but the strongest of my people._

                "Tell me your name," It was apparent that Ardeth did not believe this outrageous statement. Why would an ancient god contact him, of all people, an Arab, who's ancestors were just as guilty of rejecting the Egyptian deities as those conquerors of which this deity, or spirit, or practical joker spoke?

                _My name is Seth, oh faithless one,_ Ardeth felt a smirk tug at his lips as he heard the heavy sarcasm with which the bodiless voice spoke. _I have come to warn you._

                "Of what?" A blast of wind hit him with great force suddenly. He braced himself, glancing at the bodies that surrounded him. Their clothes were flapping and fluttering in the wind. This god had a very sick sense of humor.

                _Of what is to come, should Imhotep be granted his immortality once more._ Ardeth blanched. He knew his people were on keen lookout for any who might try to raise Imhotep again. Had one of them come close to succeeding? Was there some other way to revive the Cursed One _besides_ the Book of the Dead, and its solid gold counterpart, both of which were locked away in a secret vault whose whereabouts were known by only a select few Medjai?

                _There are several ways _he_ could have been revived,_ Seth hissed in response to Ardeth's thoughts, adding extra venom to his reference of Imhotep. _Most of those methods are unfamiliar to mortals. The most effective way to resurrect the Cursed One would have been to invoke the power of a god who favored Him._

                "And this was done?"

                _In a way._ Ardeth frowned with something like impatience. _This time, He was resurrected by a goddess in person, one who saw fit to learn of him; one who was driven by curiosity; one who had the power to give him a new life of his own...a mortal life. But she has fallen under his powers...Nephthys is willing to give him anything now..._

                "The mother of Anubis?"

                _Yes._

                "Was he not one of the leading supporters of Imhotep's eternal damnation?"

                _He was, and still is._ Ardeth's brow furrowed in thought. So now, Imhotep held the Queen of the Dead in the palm of his hand, and from what Seth was telling him, Imhotep was also very close to gaining immortality once more, this time permanently.

                Far in the distance, cries rose over the wind once more. He was beginning to get edgy about the phantom-like screams. They made him feel like sitting down and heaving a morose sigh. Abandoned; alone, these were the impressions they gave him.

                Seth somehow sensed Ardeth's discomfort. He laughed coldly.

                _My future disturbs you..._ The Medjai snorted indignantly.

                "Who is so hauntingly affected by this future?"

                _The sobs you hear are that of my brothers and sisters mourning the loss of their children, those first struck down by Imhotep's wrath._

                Ardeth knelt down to a body and rolled it over. The sight he saw made his blood boil. The corpse was missing its eyes. Probably its tongue, as well, though Ardeth felt no desire to find out. In Seth's future, Imhotep had dealt his condemners, or rather, their descendents, an equal justice.

                _This is not the worst of it._ Seth's voice drilled into the chief's head, tinted with the slightest tone of disdain. _At this point, he still hasn't reached the Medjai_. Ardeth leapt to his feet, fists clenched, jaw tight, and growled through gritted teeth.

                "Take me to him," Demanded the chief to the god.

                _Soon._ Before that word even finished echoing through his head, the sun was snuffed out, and the total darkness threw Ardeth back into the abyss of sleep.

                **You're in love with the Cursed One!**

Amaya was on her feet in a flash. Through narrowed eyes, she searched the room. It might have occurred to any mortal that _looking_ for physical evidence of a voice in one's mind was useless, but Amaya knew better. She knew that all things left traces of their presence, even gods.

                "You presume much," she stated coolly.

                **Do you deny it?** Movement! Amaya whirled around to face the fireplace. She smiled grimly at the sight she beheld: bright green flames dancing on and around the charred logs in a merry mockery of a real fire. She crossed her arms and sighed.

                "Anubis, you know perfectly well that I refuse to carry on a conversation if I can't look you in the eye. Now show yourself." It was quite humorous, how quickly a motherly tone consumed her voice. Nevertheless, Anubis obeyed with no argument. The green fire roared to ferocious life, and from it, as if walking through a doorway, stepped a handsome young man with a pretentious smirk and eyes the color of his flames; they matched those of his mother's.

                Handsome was actually quite an understatement. Anubis, who looked no more than twenty, was beautiful beyond belief. He shared many of his mother's traits, such as her glossy black hair, and her exotically coppered skin. Their smile was the same as they came face to face: grim, yet happy. They were meeting under grave circumstances, and both knew it.

                "I have missed you," She said with a sigh. He grinned and embraced her. "It disheartens me, that you were so against my decision." She held him back at arm's length and gave him a small smile. It was odd, that scene. She looked less than a decade older than he and yet, the filial bond between them was undeniable.

                "Mother, your decisions are yours alone. You chose to give him a chance, where I chose not to." The distaste Anubis carried with that phrase made it clear of whom he spoke. "However, that is not the only reason I came to speak with you." He gestured for her to sit, and they both sank into two plush armchairs by the window. "Your thoughts were open when I arrived. I heard them, and jumped to a conclusion that I'd already been suspecting."

                Amaya frowned slightly. "What made you suspect?"

                "Rumors." He sighed. "Before I even spoke with Seth, I had heard rumors that your will was weakening..." He trailed off when he looked into her eyes. There was a fierce animosity dancing within them that made him lose his train of thought. He tilted his head to indicate his curiosity.

                "You spoke with Seth?!" Amaya's voice was laced with a bitterness she'd never before expressed in anyone but her son's presence. Anubis caught on and immediately gave her an apologetic look.

                "Forgive me, mother...It was an emergency. I was worried about you." Her face had turned into a mask of death. Her hatred radiated from her so greatly it fluttered the window-drapes as if a breeze had floated past.

                "And what did he say?" Anubis raised his eyebrows. Her voice had split into two tones.

                "Mother, please," She blinked. The drapes grew still. Only when she smiled did he continue. "He said that it was true; that you were losing your judgment and your will; you were falling in love." Seeing the question written on his mother's face, he added quickly, "I do not know how he knew this. But I know he did not approve." She was quiet for several moments. Her gaze didn't move from the sunlit window. She didn't blink.

                "Anubis?"

                "Yes, mother?"

                "You want him back, don't you?" Anubis sighed.

                "That is what I came to talk to you about."

                "I see."

                Silence ensued. Neither of them dared begin.

                "He will be home soon," Amaya whispered. "He has twenty-one days left." Anubis looked to her with helplessness written across his features.

                "What is he like? Is he...truly as wretched as I was told?"

                She grinned at this. "If only you knew him like I do," she muttered dismally. "If only you all did."

                "He never once treated you badly?" Anubis's interest was steadily growing from surprised to sincere. He leaned forward, as if to coax his answer from Amaya.

                "Never. And he never will."

                "And you love him?" Amaya froze. Her son stared at her expectantly, and all she could do was stare back.

                Why? Why was it so hard for her to admit it out loud? She'd told herself that she loved him numerous times in her mind, so _why_ was it so hard to speak it? Was she afraid that doing so would set it in stone? Would saying it aloud settle her fate? Would it hurt her? Would _Imhotep_ hurt her?

                Of course not.

                "I love him, Anubis." 

                There. 

                It was done.

                Anubis hung his head and sighed. He wasted a few moments in hesitation; reluctance, before saying, "Then I cannot take him from you." Amaya blanched. Seriously, had her son just relinquished his most prized prisoner to her? Had she heard right? Perhaps he was playing one of his sick jokes again.

                "What?"

                "Seth was not the only one I spoke with when I heard the rumors." Anubis gave a half-hearted smile. "I spoke to Isis as well, and, though it took me a while to decipher her cryptic riddles, she basically told me that it would be quite hard to take him from you."

                Amaya gave her son a solemn glare for a long moment. Just when he started getting shifty, she blinked, and gave him a half-hearted little smile.

                "Take no offense at what I say, Anubis. I think I understand what you're hinting at…" Her smile transformed into a bitter smirk. "Yet, no matter how well I raised you in your infancy, you are still your father's son. What's in all this for you?" The young man had the decency to blush, but he kept a very innocent smile glued onto his lips.

                "Ah, I knew that would come back to haunt me. Why bring Seth into this, mother? Who's not to say I've shunned the dark side I inherited from him? Perhaps I simply want you to be happy."

                "I could believe that," Amaya replied uncertainly. "Indeed, it would put my conscience at rest." Anubis brightened. "Unfortunately for you, however, I care too much about the safety and peace of Imhotep and myself to simply let you get away without telling me the truth behind your sudden, unexpected change of heart towards us." At this, his face fell.

                "Mother, all I want is one little thing—." Amaya's eyebrows shot up and a triumphant grin crawled over her lips, creating an expression that screamed "I told you so!"

                "Anubis, to you, 'one little thing' could mean anything of any sort of magnitude." She mused. "Several decades ago, I recall your request for 'one little thing' of Bastet's in return for your services in a troublesome matter at Thebes."

                "I didn't keep it," he cut in with a pout.

                "Anubis, you asked for the daughter of Bastet's _High Priestess!"_

                "Mother." Amaya raised an eyebrow. "Hear me out…please."

                "Out with it, then," she replied with a sigh.

                "I will give up my end of the bargain if you will grant me a place in this life of yours."

                Amaya's jaw dropped. Silence ensued as she struggled to comprehend what her son had just asked of her. For a moment she thought to make him repeat it, but she knew what he'd said. She'd heard loud and clear.

                Anubis wanted to play mortal.

                It was a very simple favor. Incorporate Anubis as Azana's big brother. Why not? Azana would have learned of Amaya's origin eventually anyway. All Amaya would have to do would be to tweak Imhotep's memory, and he'd have a son. Very, very simple.

                And yet, Amaya couldn't bring herself to do it. There were memories in that mind of Imhotep's. Some had been suppressed by a will other than his own. Guilt pricked Amaya stealthily, a gnawing little worm that squirmed into her head. That outer influence had been _her. Things had happened that she hadn't wanted him remembering._

                Only twice. And she'd had good reason.

                But that didn't stop the pricking.

                She didn't want to do it. She deeply loved her son, but Imhotep was the one man she'd do anything for. The remorse of tampering with two quite fond memories of theirs was enough on her conscience. She considered her options as to how to reject Anubis's proposal. When she spoke, it was in a quiet voice.

                "Anubis, think about what you're asking. You would be unable to tell Imhotep who you were…and who's to say you would even want to be near him? Do you not loath him?" At this, Anubis suddenly became shifty. Amaya's alarm had been tripped. Her suspicions expanded. Her worries as to brainwashing Imhotep vanished. She knew something was up, and yet she did nothing but cross her arms and wait for his answer.

                "Well…" He hesitated. 

                "Why?" She demanded when he'd hesitated long enough. "What's this _really about?!"_

                "It's about you," he admitted. "You're acting like you've never acted before. I can't stand it…"

                Amaya raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

                "I'm talking about all of this; about Imhotep."

                "What about him, then?"

                "You're under his control, mother!" Anubis leapt from his seat and glared at her. His patience had finally reached its limit. His youthful beauty was wiped from his face in an instant, replaced by a venomous, wolf-like façade. His eyes became inky black, sharp and beady, and his healthy tan seemed to drain away. Amaya watched coolly as her son transformed into a furious demon.

                "I am quite free of his control, _son." She emphasized his title with a superior tone. No matter how vicious, he was still not the strongest. "And he very rarely asks me to do anything anyway."_

                "No!" He stamped his foot, and it shook the house. "I refuse to believe _my mother could have fallen in love with the Cursed One __by her own will!" Amaya raised her eyebrows, frowning. She could've __sworn she'd raised him better than that._

                "Sit down, Anubis," she said calmly. But his fury only increased. He snarled and stalked away, finding a long stretch of floor to pace.

                "I refuse to believe it. No one could be _that deluded! You used to have common sense. Then you went and pulled him from my clutches… Pampered and spoiled him… And fell under his spell!" Anubis growled vehemently. He paced by the bed, snatched a large pillow, and ripped it in half. Snowy white feathers floated to the ground around him, and he paced on._

                Upon seeing the slaughter of one of her favorite pillows, Amaya stood up. She said his name once more, to which he responded by slamming his fist into the nearest wall…through a picture frame. That was it. She was fed up with his insolence.

                She stalked up to him, grabbed his arm, jerked him around to face her, and grabbed his other arm as well, and held him there. He struggled furiously to free himself, but she only squeezed harder, pressing his arms into his chest. It was a very odd scene: a small, slim woman holding a full-grown, quite muscular young man completely immobile, and almost lifting him off the ground in her fury.

                "Anubis," she hissed with two different but unified voices, "Either _you sit down, or I __sit you down." Moments passed in a tense, hesitant freeze. Anubis even had the gall to estimate his chances for a second or two, but quickly thought better, and sighed._

                "Right then," he muttered with a repentant sort of pout. "Sorry." Amaya released her son instantly. She waited a while for him to look her in the eye again, and when he did, she smiled.

                "So your motive was not to join us, it was simply to see the truth with your own eyes." It wasn't a question. Nor was it said in the nicest of tones. Amaya's smile was sweet, but her voice was bitter. "Anubis, I don't know what the rumors are, but this is the truth: I love Imhotep, and I will not let you take him away. Were you hoping to change my mind? Or perhaps to prove Seth wrong?" When he started to answer, she held up a hand and added, "Never mind. I don't want to know," and then her voice softened. "I'm staying, Anubis…with or without your blessing."

                Anubis contemplated this for a moment. He loved his mother greatly, and yet, Imhotep's past treacheries were quite unforgivable. Even the ever-merciful Isis had taken offense in the past: it was she who was the first to propose that Imhotep's soul be locked in a part of the Underworld where it could neither be reached, nor summoned by anything but the Book of the Dead.

                The sound of gravel crunching along the driveway reached Amaya's ears before it did her son's. She leapt from her chair and rushed to the window to watch Imhotep's car approaching quickly.

                "They're back from the library," she observed.

                "Then I must go." Anubis sighed. He crossed his arms and frowned slightly. "It _was good to see you again, mother."_

                Amaya turned to him and smiled. She crossed the room and hugged him warmly.

                "Despite things, yes…it was wonderful to see you again, too."

                "I know my argument was a confusing one, and I know I'm not leaving in your best favor…" Anubis put his hands on his mother's shoulders and grinned. "But I _do want you to be happy, and I __don't want to be forgotten…" Amaya's smile broadened as she heard the hidden meaning in his words._

                "Does this mean you…?"

                "Yes, mother. I give you my blessing." They both exchanged great smiles. Downstairs, a door slammed shut, and footsteps pattered across the living room. Anubis gave Amaya one last hug, and stepped through his flaming gateway in the fireplace, disappearing.

                Amaya exited her room and met her daughter halfway down the stairs. Azana threw herself into her mother's arms and squealed her greetings as she was lifted up onto Amaya's hip and carried back down the stairs into the den again.

                Once there, Azana sat down on the hearth in front of the fire and displayed to her mother the array of beautiful books she'd found while at the library. Amaya took a seat in the closest armchair to listen to the fabulous stories her daughter was dying to read to her.

                When Imhotep entered the room, Amaya gave him a welcoming smile. He removed his hat and coat and walked quietly over to stand behind her without disrupting Azana's story. He placed one warm hand gently on her shoulder, and when she looked up into his eyes, she felt joy overflowing within her. His smile…was it not the same smile he'd been giving her for months now? So why did it seem so incredible at that moment? Why did it seem so…loving?

                When he walked in, she took him by storm. For a second or two, he simply couldn't get over the fact that she looked stunning. Her hair was down, her clothes simple, her jewelry minimal, and yet she appeared more gorgeous than a queen.

                It was a sign. Imhotep couldn't help but thinking that. He was meant to see her like this tonight. It was tonight that he was going to find the courage to bridge the cavernous gap between them. He would be the closest of friends to her until she felt she could love him back. No more ignoring his feelings. It was supposed to be this way. He was _meant to love her._

                So as he walked up to watch with her as their daughter read by the firelight, he rested his hand on her shoulder in a reassuring way, and gave her his same old quiet, concealed little smile when she looked up at him.

                And right after that, he caught a glimmer of something green in the fire behind Azana, and a voice whispered inside his head:

                _I give my blessings to you also, Imhotep…_

_                Love her well._

*        *        *

Author's Note

                Review and you get a cookie. oO; Chocolate cookie. With chocolate chips and frosting on top. oO;

                Don't review and you get a cookie. oO; Chocolate Cookie. Potassium Cyanide sprinkles. ^^;;

-

                I plan on bringing up those two incidents where Amaya brainwashed Immy later on in the story… ^^ But don't let me forget about them… I hope you liked this chapter! Even more so, I hope I played their characters to my readers' satisfaction. Any flaws I beg for you to point out. Any strong points, I'd like to know about, too, so's I can enforce them in the characters for chapter Ten, which is already half-finished, by the way… oO;; 

                                                                                                                Much love,

                                                                                                                                Solaris.


	10. Stolen Artifacts

The London night air was crisp, and no fog had formed yet. The British Museum stood out among the conservatively built offices that lined the block, and had the appearance of a Roman temple shadowed in sleepy darkness. Almost everything was covered in that silence in this part of London. Bankers, Clerks, Investors and the like, they all clocked out at five. The Museum itself closed an hour later, but two guards always played sentry around its perimeter.  
However, at the moment, they were camped out on the marble steps below the front entrance, both with cigars in their hands, and one, the taller of the two, waving his arms about frantically as he related to his partner an occurrence of his youth.  
So naturally, neither of them noticed the two small figures shadow- hopping down the street, nearing the museum in a very espionage fashion. The figures waited until the guards were deeply engrossed in their stories, and darted over the lawn. They reached the side of the museum and approached one of the ground-level basement windows, pausing only for a moment to remove the small wooden figurine that had been lodged in the window's lock. The foggy glass pane swung out on well-oiled hinges and the two burglars slipped inside unnoticed.  
  
Alex fumbled around in the darkness, sending two small crates tumbling in his haste, until the sound of metal squeaking filled the silence and dim yellow light flickered to life. Azana stepped into the lantern's light and giggled.  
"Phase One is complete," Alex proudly stated. Azana rolled her eyes.  
"You've been reading your mother's spy novels again, haven't you?" Her tone was bemused, but Alex didn't pick up on it. He simply grinned and nodded.  
"C'mon," he said, turning and leading them through a maze of recklessly stacked wooden crates of all shapes and sizes. They emerged at the foot of a staircase, and upon ascending that staircase, found themselves face to face with the basement door. Changing the lantern from his right to his left, Alex reached for the doorknob without hesitation, but Azana grabbed his wrist.  
"What if there are more patrols?" She demanded. He scoffed.  
"There aren't. Mum's too stingy; she already spent a bundle on those new time-release locks." He frowned at the look she gave him. "Trust me!" Reluctantly, she nodded and released his arm.  
How cruel of irony, to see to their flawless performance up until that moment, whence the basement door let out a loud, resounding screech in protest as Alex swung her open. Both children froze, hearts in their throats as they waited for the telltale sounds that signaled the approach of the guards.  
But no sounds came. Three, four, five minutes passed in aching silence, and finally Alex heaved a sigh. He turned to Azana and winced; she had her hands on her hips and was glaring at him menacingly. She looked very much like his mother when she did that. They both had a piercing gaze. Azana got it from her mother, that, Alex was sure of. In all honesty, he wished he would inherit it from his mother, but dad had already told him 'it was a woman thing'.  
"Let's hurry up and get this over with. I don't even want to think about what father would do if we got caught." Azana muttered. She nudged Alex with her elbow to start moving down the hallway. He threw her a frown over his shoulder and began walking at a slow, cautious pace. The dim lamplight flickered over smoothly polished wooden walls, and flashed back in Alex's eyes when it came in contact with the glass cases that littered the entire building.  
"You're dad's not that bad," he said. Azana snorted.  
"Aye, he doesn't curse, at least, not in English, and he doesn't hit, but I've seen him angry, and it's not a pleasant site." Alex laughed.  
"He curses in another language?" He said with a chuckle. She nodded.  
"Egyptian," she replied. "At least, I think they're curses. I don't know them, mind you."  
"Here it is." Alex lifted up the lamp and the light fell on a large pair of closed wooden doors. Nailed to the wall beside the doorframe was a gold plaque with black letters that read:  
  
Exhibit #15  
Nephthys, Goddess of the  
Underworld; Items pertaining  
To her worship and beliefs;  
Found in Lower Nile Region  
D. 4,200- 1,100 AD  
  
"Nephthys? Smashing, mum and dad love the gods." Azana grinned.  
"Yeah," Alex nodded, "but we're not here to enjoy. We're here to remove an eyesore." The girl raised her eyebrows skeptically.  
"Since when are you an expert on eyesores? Have you seen your room lately?" Alex stuck his tongue out, an almost habitual childhood action.  
"Just you wait," he muttered.  
Fortunately, the double-doors concealing the Nephthys Exhibit were well-oiled and opened in perfect silence. Azana's smile widened as she gazed upon a well-sized room full to bursting with papyri wall-hangings and busts and pottery set on mahogany pedestals. Coins glittered in glass cases, pieces of ancient jewelry and even an original copy of one of the chapters in the Book of the Dead. Alex looked at his companion and rolled his eyes. She looked like she'd just stumbled into a room packed to the ceiling with chocolate and candy.  
"Over here," he instructed. He cast the lamplight over a three-foot tall pedestal with no glass covering and a simple cushion to support what it held.  
"What is it?" Azana demanded with a frown.  
"This is the eyesore." Alex picked it up and held it in full light. It was a rock. It didn't have any special features, other than the fact that it was shaped slightly like a pyramid. It was dark brown, and eons of contact with the outside world had smoothed the entire thing to a near polish and rounded off the corners. Altogether, it was quite unimpressive.  
After examining the base-ball sized object carefully, Azana blinked, looked up at Alex and shrugged.  
"Take it then," she said, and she turned to investigate something new that caught her attention.  
Alex grinned. He dropped the little rock in his pocket.  
"Alright, let's go," he said. He looked at Azana and once more rolled his eyes. "I said come on." He grabbed her elbow and dragged her backwards out the double-doors. Once she regained her footing, she slapped his hand away and walked on her own.  
"Wait," he stopped. "You hear that?" Azana strained her ears and soon, a subtle, irregular tapping sound manifested.  
"What is it?" She whispered, eyes wide in surprise, and maybe a bit of fear. She gravitated closer to Alex and clenched her fists.  
Alex grinned. "The radiator; it always does that." Azana turned on him and her fist connected with his sternum. He nearly dropped the lantern, but she grabbed it before he let go. His breath was knocked out of him, and he gave her an utterly shocked gape. She smirked.  
"That'll teach you." She muttered, grabbing his elbow. "Now, come on." She dragged him, stumbling, down the hallway, past the glass display cases, down the basement steps, and out the way they came in. 


	11. Quiet Saturday Mornings

By the end of the week, Imhotep had been able to convince himself that he'd imagined the voice that had spoken to him in his head. He didn't go as far as to try to guess who it was he'd imagined, however, for fear that he might really be going insane. He'd heard the voices of the gods many times before, and he knew he could identify the imaginary speaker if he wanted to.  
But something had changed on that night. Something had happened between Amaya and himself that he couldn't possibly successfully explain. It was as if their thoughts had somehow fused together to a certain point; almost as if they were aware that they had feelings for each other, and therefore no longer feared the other's reaction to an embrace, or a playful touch, for they knew that it would be received willingly, though neither one would admit to it. Such freedom each enjoyed exploiting, and they'd never admit to that either.  
The days were starting to go by faster now. The heavy, enormous papyrus calendar that hung in his room reminded him every time he looked at it that his bliss was to meet an end very soon. It had come down to two weeks and a day. He had only fifteen more days until eternal suffering became his unavoidable fate.  
If nothing else, the knowledge of his limited days would be enough to drive him mad by the time it was up. He was quite positive his stay in the Underworld would be an unpleasant one; Anubis held grudges very eagerly. Hope was draining out of him with every passing hour. His smile had already begun to fade.  
This fact did not escape Amaya at all.  
It was early morning, a Saturday, and though most in the neighborhood were still tucked soundly beneath their down-feather quilts, Imhotep could find no sleep. He'd crept downstairs and found refuge in his couch in the living room, his favorite, a soft, springy, oversized cotton one that Amaya had found at an American store on one of her shopping trips several months back. There was no fire, for the maids had the morning off every other Saturday. He wasn't too cold though. He had his thick, navy woolen robe and a cup of coffee to keep him warm.  
His couch faced the wide bay windows that overlooked the vast stretch of green moor behind the mansion. There he could sit and watch the sun rise over the treetops. There he could allow his thoughts to wander in places he normally wouldn't let it wander.  
There was one place specifically that he was determined never to let roam free. It was that one place where his passion could run wild, where he could imagine how soft her lips were without chastising himself; where he could dream about waking up at her side, seeing her face first thing in the morning for the rest of his life, without feeling that unbearable loneliness he always felt when she wasn't around.  
An hour passed without heed. The sun began to announce its arrival with brilliant splashes of color on the high, wispy clouds. Imhotep's breathing was rhythmic, almost as if he was asleep, but he was only in a deep reverie. He could almost feel her skin beneath his fingertips.  
A fire roared to life within the fireplace beside him. He blinked, startled from his trance, and gazed at it with a bewildered frown.  
"It's cold down here, love," Amaya said from behind him. "Surely you know how to start a fire." Her sarcasm made him grin as he turned his head to greet her. She knew very well that he never started a fire on Saturdays. He wanted the complete silence that the crackling flames could not provide.  
"Good morning to you, too," he replied with mock innocence in his soft voice. The golden light of the sun glinted off her hair, and stained her white robe orange. She smiled and took a seat beside him, taking his coffee cup from his hands and setting it onto the end table with a look of mild disgust. Imhotep chuckled; Amaya hated coffee with a passion that rivaled many.  
With the coffee out of the way, Amaya gratefully curled up beside Imhotep, smiling as he casually put his arm around her. She jumped and muttered something under her breath when his fingers brushed her arm. His hands, she noted, were freezing.  
He chuckled. There was that link, that fusion of thoughts. Neither of them dreaded to touch one another anymore. Amaya was very cold-natured, what with being a goddess of a hot desert country. She loved everything she touched to be comfortable and warm. Without a doubt, his hands would be warm very soon, what with her so near him.  
"I want to take you to Egypt, Imhotep," she said in a soft voice, keeping her gaze straight ahead, towards the sun. His eyes widened as he looked at her.  
"Why?"  
"Because you haven't been there yet, and I want Azana to see it," her tone was unarguable, but nevertheless, Imhotep heaved a morose sigh.  
She lifted her head and peered up at him curiously.  
"Don't sigh at me, love," she chastised lightly, using the word she often tacked onto the end of her phrases, 'love', to identify him as she did many others. "I know you have no desire to see our country's beauty so crumbled." Imhotep raised his eyebrows and gave her a lopsided smile. She'd been right of his motives. His great empire was dead, and he wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed visiting its grave. "However, should you go-" Her voice trailed off with that mischievous tone he so often beheld within it. "The rewards would be well worth it." His expression changed to skeptical. There were only a few things he could think of that would be worth traveling to Egypt for, though he wasn't inclined to delve too much into them, for fear of his thoughts being scanned by his goddess.  
Despite the rewards Amaya offered, there was little else to look forward to should he consent to go. Case in point: the Medjai. Egypt was overrun by them nowadays, he was sure. They'd done nothing but multiply over the millennia; gone into hiding after the Pharaohs had died out. And what of the tourism? He was positive he wouldn't approve of all the cheap rip-offs the venders and merchants sold in Cairo and Thebes.  
"I really don't think we should go." At that moment, Azana appeared in the doorway clutching her big, fluffy white teddy bear, looking somewhat sleepy-eyed, but cheerful all the same. She walked over to her parents and Amaya scooted away from Imhotep to let their little girl snuggle between them.  
"Go where, father?" Azana asked, leaning her head on Amaya's shoulder and closing her eyes as Amaya wrapped her arms around her daughter.  
"To Egypt, love," Amaya whispered before Imhotep could get a word in. Azana's eyes snapped open, and she sat straight up. She gazed up at her father despondently.  
"You don't want to go?!" She squeaked, as if, by law, to deny a trip to Egypt were an unforgivable sin. Amaya threw her head back and laughed joyously. Imhotep sent her an irritated smirk.  
"Maybe not right now. You'll be back in school in what, three weeks?" A week after he'd been taken away from her. Grief stabbed at him. Would she remember him? Would Amaya put her in a family with different parents? Would Amaya even let her exist? But no, those were questions that would have plagued him at the beginning. He knew without a doubt that Amaya loved Azana. He knew now that Azana would be taken care of. At the moment, however, the poor girl looked completely crestfallen, not only at the mention of the school year, but at the obvious excuse that hid her father's real motive.  
"But you were really thinking about going?" She asked hopefully.  
"One of us was," he replied flatly, giving Amaya his irritated look again. His blatancy was lost on his little girl though, and she took it seriously.  
"We could stay for a week! I'd be back in plenty of time for school, father. Two weeks, even!" Much to Imhotep's dismay, Amaya then joined in, leaning forward to put her hand on his arm and give him her sweetest, most innocent smile. He wasn't going to lie to himself; her touch all but melted his willpower, but he was sure he didn't want to see Egypt.  
"Come on, love. Let's take her," she pleaded. Imhotep raised an eyebrow at her and sighed. Then she added in the softest of whispers the phrase that changed his decision: "Let her have this." Amaya's eyes held the slightest flutter of sadness. After a moment of hesitation, he took her hand and grinned.  
"Alright," he whispered in response. His wife's smile made a feeling of warmth spread through him, and Azana's squeal of delight made him wince slightly. She was bouncing around the room in her happiness, and several of the maids rushed from their quarters to find the cause of her excitement. They peered cautiously into the room, greeted by the smiles of their employers.  
Amaya stood up, side-stepped her daughter, who was busy twirling through the sunbeams in the center of the room, and approached the maids.  
"Marian, Anna, be so kind as to rouse the others and bring them," the goddess instructed quickly. The maids disappeared with nods. "Azana, go get dressed; comfortable clothes, remember. Put your toys away in your room. We're leaving today." Swift as a dove, little Azana flew from the room with yet another giggly squeal. Imhotep's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Amaya looked to him and smiled.  
"Don't look so surprised, Imhotep. We've no time to waste, for I have many things I wish to show you, and it will take us four days to get there by boat," she sat down beside him and leaned into him with a sweet smile. "Come on, let's go get dressed." She tugged on the sleeve of his robe, a habit of hers, though he doubted she knew how fond he was of it, and stood up again, pulling him with her. They made their way up the staircase and disappeared into their separate rooms.  
  
Of course it was cruel of her to have done it. It was deceitful of her; conniving, even. She was acting like her son. Her actions had been wicked, and misleading, and untruthful.  
And yet, it had worked like a charm. She'd taken Imhotep on a guilt trip so extravagant that she saw him travel it. She'd seen it in his eyes, and she'd sensed his decision. He didn't know that he would never fall into Anubis's hands, but Amaya did, and she'd used that to her advantage. He'd played right into her hands, and though she felt a small amount of repentance for her manipulation, she was nevertheless overjoyed.  
They were going to Egypt. Imhotep had unknowingly set her plans in motion, and so far, everything was running smoothly.  
Amaya grinned to herself as she slipped on her coat. Honestly, she couldn't understand why he'd been so surprised that she had already made the decision to go. Did he not know her well enough by now to tell that she almost never left anything up to that devious demon called Chance? And aside from that, she was in love with him; and love always strengthened her ability to influence others.  
A maid knocked on her door and informed her that Amaya's packing was almost complete. Amaya quickly gave her the last instructions, tidbits about security and housekeeping, and sent the girl on her way. With one last look at her room, Amaya turned and went to join her family, knowing that the next time she returned, everything was going to be different. 


	12. Rivers of Blood

                "The sands are shifting." These were the only words Kaija had willingly offered. The others he'd practically wrung out of her. "Don't go looking for enmity, Medjai. You won't find it where it is sought."

                Ardeth's brow was creased with anger and thought as he hastened from the tavern. Gravel crunched beneath his boots, the only sign of his passing. In the pale blue light of the moon, Luxor seemed majestic. The pale city was awash in blue light, overlooking the Nile, which glittered like a jewel in all of Egypt's eyes; a sapphire, tonight. There was no blood on this moon.

                But there very nearly had been. Kaija was a fiery little wench. She loved insulting Ardeth and his people almost as much as she loved her beer. She wasn't his first choice of Seers to consult, but she was the only one he'd been able to track down. They usually stayed on the move, and for many reasons. Seers gained a boatload of enemies during their lifetime. They claimed that their visions were sent by the old gods, so they were usually shunned by followers of Allah. They also had an annoying tendency to be raving mad lunatics, or at least alcoholics, so they weren't always welcomed with open arms into human society.

                It was almost sad. _Almost. For had Kaija, or her sisters, been born in ancient Egypt, they would have been properly trained and disciplined to be able to withstand the violence, and often the pain of their Visions. However, they'd been born, instead, into a world where soothing narcotics could be found around every corner. Kaija felt herself invincible when she had a bottle in her hand._

                That is, until she'd found herself pinned to a wall a foot off the ground.

                Ardeth sighed. He rounded another corner and found Karda, his magnificent stallion, waiting patiently for his return. She saw him and whinnied a soft greeting, to which he replied with a nod. His mind was still milling over what Kaija had told him. He let Karda wander freely through Luxor, towards the camp, and allowed himself to ponder the prophecy.

                He'd always prided himself for his patience. He'd always thought it was wrong to strike at a female. Kaija had tested him beyond his limits of patience and virtue. The onslaught of insults directed towards his family, his people, and his god had snapped his tolerance in half. Yes, Kaija would have a few tender bruises, but by morning she probably wouldn't remember who'd given them to her.

                Still, it seemed very unlike him to lose patience. Perhaps this had something to do with his entanglement with the evil god Seth? Was Seth rubbing off on him?

And who was Kaija's patron god? Who was the god that kept her 'up to date' on the most current of matters? Ardeth mentally chided himself for forgetting to ask the Seer. This could have greatly affected the integrity of her words, for seers were often bias in the information they received.

A few drunken pedestrians were loitering along the roadside, but they were much too self-absorbed to notice Ardeth as he passed. Several minutes after leaving the tavern, Ardeth was on the outskirts of Luxor, scanning the rolling horizon for any sign of the sentry he'd posted at the camp before his departure. Before he could find him, however, a blast of wind struck up from the east, sending tiny grains of sand flying into Ardeth's eyes. He lifted his hand to shield his face from the painful wind, but as soon as he did, the gale disappeared.

Curious, and more than a little suspicious, Ardeth peered through squinted eyes at his surroundings. Something glittered at the edge of his field of vision, and his head snapped around to see what it was.

The Nile. It was only the Nile, her glassy surface reflecting the bright image of the moon. Ardeth's tense muscles relaxed. He sighed and pressed his lips into a thin line. Something about this night had his nerves on edge. What could be affecting him so? Was there something here he was sensing, but was overlooking?

Again, and this time more anxiously, Ardeth scanned the horizon; nothing. He saw sand, sky, stars, and more sand. Nothing else. His gaze swept over the river, and a voice, a nervous, shaky, cautious young male voice suddenly echoed through his head:

"_And the rivers and waters of __Egypt__ ran red, and were…as blood." Ardeth nearly burst out laughing. It was Jonathan's voice he was hearing. Evelyn's humorous, but freeloading elder brother. As English a man as any Ardeth had ever encountered._

Then a thought wormed its way into Ardeth's mind. It was a thought so unpredicted, so unexpected, and so true that it turned the Medjai's blood to ice.

He'd never heard Jonathan speak those words. And as if a magnet had suddenly been dropped into the Nile, Ardeth felt his eyes being dragged back to that glassy surface of water.

It was red. The reflection of the moon was a crimson sphere. The Nile was a river of blood.

_The second phase, you see._ Seth crooned disdainfully. Ardeth growled, but try as he might, he couldn't tear his gaze away from the Nile. _Imhotep wants to utterly destroy __Egypt__. He wants to see it wither away and die. He wants to reinstate the fear and power of the old gods, himself included. He will kill all who oppose him._

"How do you know this is true? How can you be _sure?!" Ardeth demanded ferociously. Seth was silent for a moment, and then he laughed. It was a horrific sound, like the scream of a dying man combined with the sound of nails dragging down a chalkboard. Everything about this god was terrifying._

_In truth, I cannot, but this is what countless millennia of experience are telling me. And, though you should, if you do not completely trust my word, then perhaps you should seek the assistance of a Seer._ His tone was mocking. Ardeth clenched his jaw and did not answer. _Ah, but you already have! Perhaps Nephthys's prophet told you what you wanted to hear._

Ardeth's eyes widened. Kaija's patron goddess was _Nephthys_?! Then Kaija would have been aware of Ardeth's quest. Kaija would have lied to him without a second thought.

_And she did lie to you. Women cannot be trusted, Medjai. Remember that for future reference._

"I thought Seers were incapable of lying," Ardeth muttered wearily.

_Another lie told by the first Seers and meant to help maintain a solid measure of respect in the skeptical courts of the Pharaohs._

Ardeth opened his mouth to bring up another point against Seth's logic, but then he realized he had no further argument. All of his questions had been answered. All doubts he'd had about who was speaking lies and who was speaking truth had been sorted. And that was it: everything had come together to reveal that everyone was corrupt and deceitful. That _was_ what Seth excelled in sniffing out: corruption.

Ardeth lowered his head in resignation and sighed.

"Give me your orders."


	13. Motives and Missing Items

Aiee! Hi Deana!! Sorry, no Ardeth in this chapter, but I'll be sure to add lots of him later on. ^_^ MedjaiAngel, you're so nice!!! ^^;; Thanks SO much for commenting. I'm so glad you like it!! YAY!!!

                It was probably midnight by now. The steady, lulling rock of the enormous luxury boat had put Azana immediately into a deep sleep, but no heaviness plagued at Imhotep's eyelids. He sat just outside of the cabin he shared with his family, on a wicker bench, staring out into the velvety darkness that surrounded him on all sides. The lantern that sat in the window behind him cast oddly angular shadows on the floor at his feet, which he studied in his boredom.

                The door opened softly. More light flooded over Imhotep as he turned his head to look at Amaya blankly. She grinned when she saw the look on his face and joined him on the bench.

                "Sudden bout of insomnia, eh?" She asked in that coy tone he so enjoyed hearing.

                "I guess so," he shrugged, his crisp off-white shirt rustling softly in the silent breeze-less sea air. "Or it might be that this atmosphere is perfect for pondering, and I couldn't let the opportunity pass me up."

                Amaya chuckled. "Gods forbid you should miss a chance to ponder," she teased. He smiled and glanced at her through narrowed eyes.

                "I don't suppose I have any chance of talking you into revealing your motives behind this trip, do I?" He leaned back and crossed his arms as he watched her rise from her seat and stand at the railings, staring silently up at the stars. 

                "Very little chance of that, Imhotep." She lifted her hand into the air and made a slight gesture, and immediately Imhotep felt a soft, warm breeze float past him. He watched silken strands of his goddess's obsidian hair fly from her face gracefully. Amaya looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

                "Then I am forced to put my complete trust in you," he grudgingly stated. His goddess laughed joyously.

                "I would not dare abuse such a precious thing when it is put willingly in my care," she replied in a soft voice. "However, I was unaware that I _didn't_ have your total trust before this trip." Imhotep stood and joined her at the railing.

                "Of course you had my trust," he muttered, peering out at the twinkling constellations, _but now, you have my heart as well, and it is equally as fragile_. He didn't finish his phrase out loud. He could only pray that she wasn't listening to his thoughts as much as she was his words.

                "Make up your mind, Imhotep," she chided. "Have I your trust, or haven't I?" He sighed.

                "You have it all, and you always will." He kept his eyes glued to the stars. He wouldn't look at her; he greatly feared that she might catch his hidden meaning.

                "That is exactly what I wanted to hear," she whispered. Then, without warning, she leaned towards him and kissed him on his cheek. Her touch warmed him. She smiled, squeezed his hand affectionately, and sighed. "Try to get some sleep, my love. I may be gone in the morning, for I have some business to attend to. Good night." He felt her touch withdraw, and moments later, heard the door shut softly. The lantern faded into darkness, and Imhotep was alone.

                Alex was ripped from the dreamy world of sleep by a piercing telephone ring that sounded right in his ear. He groaned and opened one eye. Since when did he have a phone in his room?

                Since never. Judging by the ache in his neck and back, and the uncomfortably sharp object jabbing into his ribs, he was able to foggily deduce that he'd fallen asleep on the floor in the library. Not the most glorious of wake-up calls he'd experienced.

                His mother's voice didn't sound very far away when she answered the telephone. Alex quickly got to his feet and, after sacrificing several more seconds to the cause of steadying himself on his feet, wandered into the kitchen.

                Evelyn was standing by the stove with the phone receiver pressed against her ear, looking tired and disheveled. The bay windows were open, and a soft, crisp breeze floated through the kitchen, ruffling her long cotton nightgown.

                "Yes, Mr. Barringer, I realize the implications of this mishap," she was hastily explaining, "and I assure you I had everything in that display entered into inventory on Wednesday—yes, yes I know how much the public is looking forward to it—I'm positive everything was under lock-and-key when I left." Alex raised his eyebrows and frowned. The man to whom his mother spoke was none other than Richard C. Barringer, Head Curator and Manager of the British Museum. Apparently, he was in the midst of some sort of dilemma that needed immediate attention.

                "Mr. Barringer, the only way that could have happened was if someone broke in on Thursday night, and I highly doubt that this was the case," Evelyn exclaimed. 

                Alex froze. Thursday night was the night he'd taken Zee to the museum to remove that horrible little rock from its pretty little display pedestal in the Nephthys exhibit. Certainly _that wasn't what Barringer was having such a fit about?_

                "Morning, mum," he said with a broad, innocent grin. His mother gave him a glance and sighed.

                "Don't look at me like that, Alex, it makes me think you're up to something," she muttered with a small smile. She reached out and ruffled his hair fondly before turning her attention back to the panic-stricken old man screaming at her through the receiver.

                Alex rushed upstairs and into his room. Naturally, being a little boy, it was a mess. The floor, if there was one, remained to be seen, but it took Alex a surprisingly short amount of time to sift through a pile of junk beneath his window and manifest a small, plain wooden box. Holding his breath, he flipped the lid open and picked up the small, smooth brown stone. It seemed to have once been the shape of a pyramid, but the edges had smoothed down over the years to give it a rather dull appearance. He looked at it hard. Nothing spectacular popped out at him. He weighed it in his hand, it was about the size of a baseball, and ran his fingers over the lumps and ridges that covered it. Nothing special.

                "What are you?" He demanded of the seemingly inanimate little object. Needless to say, it did not immediately respond. He sighed and sat back.

                _I am Earth._ This whisper echoed hauntingly around Alex. He gasped and his eyes widened. With an expression of total disbelief and wonder, he opened his palm to stare, bewildered, at the small stone.

                _I am the Earth, little Seer._ It spoke in a dialect so old that was hard for the boy to comprehend, but he was able to identify enough to understand.

                "Well, yeah, you are," he muttered with a hint of sarcasm. He got that from his father: when he got scared, he became a smartass. It was a trait he could not control.

                _I am old. I am Mother of the Ennead; mother of Ra!_ Alex blinked in confusion. Was he delirious? Had a _rock_ just told him that it was the mother of the nine most powerful gods of Ancient Egypt? 

Alex blinked. A cloud of confusion had descended upon him, which was rare, considering he'd inherited his father's cunning and quick imagination.

                "Alex! Breakfast!" His mother's voice brought him back from whatever dream-like state he'd fallen into. He looked down at the stone. It looked just like something one would find in a frog-infested pond, and yet there was some sort of _presence about it that Alex knew he couldn't come close to describing; some sort of vibration hung in the air around it, as if it were a source of some great, unknown power._

                "I'll—Yeah—Be right there, mum!" With shaking hands, Alex dropped the rock back into its box and snapped it shut. With a hesitant glance at it, and a deep frown, he dropped the box on a pile of clothes beside the door and fled the room.

Fresh batch of cookies ready for those who're kind enough to review. Peanut Butter this time. Maybe some chocolate chips. Brownies even? CHOCOLATE!! Stop by my place, North Carolina… after you've reviewed, that is… ^_^


	14. Egypt's Fondest

Yay! Time for more Egyptian Deities! I love cats, so I chose to have this scene in Bastet's POV. Loved doing the description of them, because they're all so majestic and dazzling. If I got any of the nitpicky details about the gods wrong, kindly, and gently, correct me in a REVIEW. ^_^ Blahrg is the Word of the Month, btw. You get an imaginary nickel every time you say it to someone! Yaay!! 

                Bastet bent down and dipped her hands into the cool water of the Nile. Her sand-colored robes fell around her in folds and drapes that fluttered and billowed, disturbed by some wind that did not reach the thin papyrus reeds and dune grass that surrounded her sandal-clad feet. She straightened, peered at the small amount of water cupped in her hands, blew on it gently, and threw it up into the air. The droplets reflected off the sun, glittering like a hundred little diamonds, and fell to the ground in a pearly splash. At the sight of every droplet's fall, an iris bloomed instantly, each of a different color, and there were hundreds. Bastet smiled, pleased with her trick. From behind her, a reproving voice spoke up:

                "Stop amusing yourself and wait patiently for Nephthys to arrive, Bast." Osiris scolded in a warm, pleasant tone. Bastet sighed and gently brushed at the stalk of a bright purple iris with her toe. A moment later, that iris, and all of its companions disappeared. She looked back up at the Lord of the Dead and crossed her arms with a mockingly defiant expression. Osiris had always treated her like a little sister, but she respected him enough to put up with it. Idly, she traced the intricate curling golden designs that adorned her skin. The gold tattoos glittered in the sunlight, millions of swirls and patterns twisting and swirling up her arms, shoulders and legs. A thick band of gold melded around her neck, almost like a collar, though she resented that similarity. Her short, straight black hair tapered down her jaw-line. Her almond-shaped eyes and slit pupils gave her a logically cat-like appearance, which she enjoyed, seeing as she very much resembled a tiger readying to pounce upon her prey when she smiled.

                The sun beat down over the five of them, all sitting spaced apart in a pentagonal circle of sorts, but none shifted in the discomfort of the heat. Behind Bastet, the Nile flowed peacefully along a smooth, sandy shoreline. Before her, along the flat bank, dispersed among the short, wispy reeds, sat her companions, Osiris, Isis, Anubis, and Seth, all of whom were in varied forms of meditation. Bastet frowned. She'd never been much of a fan of meditation, the act of pondering one single thought for days upon end until that minor idea was finally understood, down to its very core; she much preferred a deep, trance-like sleep in which she could nourish her thoughts and mind and at the same time divine the vague future.

                Osiris was garbed from head to toe in thick black cloth, including an Arab-like hood, held in place by a golden circlet that rimmed his forehead. He had a black mark on his forehead: an ankh, the symbol of life, which he was forbidden to hold, though not forbidden to wear, for in wearing it, it symbolized his eternal life, but his eternal life was one spent as a dead god, killed by his brother, who sat no more than twenty steps away. Therefore, he could not touch a physical manifestation of the symbol of the living.

                Seth was naked from the waist up and had adorned his body with the black and gold markings of the cobra, enchanted so that they slithered and twisted as his muscles flexed, catching the light of the sun in a brilliant, magical shimmer. Bastet knew he often delighted in showing off his beautiful form, but this was a bit much; no doubt a result of the fact that Nephthys was attending this meeting. 

At the moment, he had a very stern, concentrated look on his face. Bastet's feline eyes narrowed impulsively as the scent of deception wafted over to her from Seth's direction. She reached out with her mind to try and grasp a hint of what Seth was up to. She touched his thoughts and a picture flew to her head: the Nile, Luxor, and a Medjai, a chief, judging by his markings. He was quite handsome. She heaved a sigh as she felt her mind being shoved away. Seth opened his eyes and frowned at her, and his expression told her she should've known better than to barge in like that.

                Disgruntled and a bit pouty, Bastet shifted her gaze to Isis, and her spirits lifted instantly. Isis was with child constantly. Being the Mother of Life, she nourished within her the souls of the mortal world's children before they were sent to their real mothers to grow in the physical world. She looked hugely pregnant, and Bastet was sure it was uncomfortable, but she had never once seen Isis grow irritable or snappy towards anyone, no matter how they pestered her. She surrounded herself with an air of calmness and peace. Her inky black hair was pulled up beneath an intricate golden headdress, and her pure white robes folded and cascaded around her.

                Lastly, Bastet looked to Anubis. He was as striking as ever in his soft, loose black leather clothing, but he too, like Seth, looked a bit concerned. He was consumed in his thoughts, and because he was not as aware of mental prodding as Seth, Bastet was more effectively able to creep into his mind and examine his thoughts:

                _Why has mother called this meeting anyway? Is she meaning to tell father and Osiris and Bastet of her newfound weakness for the mortal? Surely __Isis__ knows already; they're twins, they know everything about each other…_

                Bastet raised her eyebrows and withdrew. She leaned backwards and a small wall of sand rose up behind her for her to rest against. After all, having power over the sands was quite convenient. She pondered Anubis's worries: Nephthys had a weakness, perhaps a liking, for a mortal. She'd never struck Bastet as the kind who strayed so blatantly from the norm, but then again, after hearing about what she'd done to Seth when she'd hunted him down after he'd killed Osiris, Bastet wasn't exactly sure _what to believe of this woman whose emotions and feelings were as different as night and day._

                As if thinking about her called for her presence, Nephthys appeared in a flourish of golden light, her thin black robes billowing around her. The amber jewel set in her gold belt glittering in the bright sun. Her long, glossy black hair fell to her waist, ending in glossy curls, and a golden circlet adorned her forehead, with an emerald in the center that set off her jade eyes. Seth's concerned expression vanished, and his gaze fell on her with naked hunger, which he only barely managed to conceal before she looked at him. Bastet smirked wryly at the sight of Seth's near-downfall.

                "Forgive me for keeping you waiting," Nephthys's apology was directed at Isis and Osiris. She smiled briefly towards Bastet, who returned with a smile of her own and a nod, and then she smiled towards Anubis, and Bastet was able to make out some sort of secret that passed between them. Nephthys chuckled softly, and Anubis heaved a heavy sigh, as if some sort of question that he'd been dreading had just been confirmed. Isis rose from her seat, and her husband followed suit, both walking forward to embrace Nephthys warmly. Bastet quickly noticed that Nephthys had ignored Seth's existence, and it almost made the cat-goddess pity him, considering how much he wanted her back... but too quickly did the memory of Seth's priest clubbing a cat to death two thousand years ago rise up in her mind, and her pity disintegrated.

                "What's the purpose of this meeting, Nephthys?" Seth demanded coldly, rising to confront his ex-lover with burning eyes. Nephthys promptly stared him down with an icy smile on her face.

                "My purpose is to put an end to of all these childish rumors you've been spreading, Seth. Step no closer to me, lest I decide to decorate the Nile with your limbs, as you did to Osiris." Seth snarled, and Bastet looked away quickly to hide the smile on her face. Nephthys was perhaps third in line in the ranks of ultimate power, and Seth fell in fifth, behind Anubis, and just before Bastet herself. In truth, she resented this fact ever-so-slightly, but he rarely was able to exercise his powers over any beneath him, so tightly was he reined in by Nephthys and Osiris. None of the gods had ever really forgiven Seth for the murder of their Lord, Osiris, except, perhaps, any other minor gods of evil and destruction.

                "Come now, Nephthys, we need not express useless hostility in a place where no harm can be caused to any." Isis chided gently, laying a hand on her sister's arm fondly. Nephthys sighed at this. The birthplace of the Nile was holy ground on which no blood could be spilled, but then again, she'd probably known that all along; she _had been the one to designate where they met._

                "As you know, the river's water at this spot, where the Nile of our world converges with the Nile of the mortal world, has the power to clear from one's mind and body any harmful spells and charms cast upon them," Nephthys announced with a withering look at Seth. Osiris nodded, tilting his shrouded head in the universal expression of curiosity. Nephthys walked to the edge of the water (Bastet stood up and turned around to see what she was doing), and dipped a small golden cup (that appeared out of nowhere) into the water. She lifted the cup to her mouth and drank its contents. Nothing happened. No screaming spirits, which would have represented any evil spells, escaped from her body. Nephthys closed her fist over the cup and it vanished.

                "Notice, my friends, that I am not in any way being influenced by another's magic." She sent another pointed look at Seth, who by this time had crossed his arms with a stubborn, angry, pouting expression. "And so I tell you this now: by my own free will, and with all my heart, do I love Imhotep."

-Bailin's Randomness:

I'm rich in imaginary nickels… Leave a review or I'll pelt you with them in your sleep.


	15. YOU WHAT ? !

Deana, Thoth, thanks bunches for reviewing! ^^;

                Seth hissed venomously. Anubis rolled his eyes. Isis smiled knowingly, and Osiris's mouth dropped open. Bastet simply looked on with a cat's expression of blank acknowledgment. She'd figured Nephthys would say something that would be completely unexpected, but this _was_ a bit much. Imhotep was the most well-known mortal among the gods, for his deception, his disrespect, and his severe infringement of the rules.

                "Might I ask _why?!" Osiris demanded with a slightly amused tone. Isis sent her husband a reproving look._

                "You may not," said the Mother of Life promptly. Nephthys smiled at her twin sister appreciatively.

                "Kudos, mother, truly, but some of us already knew this. Why bring us here together?" Anubis queried with an innocent smile. Nephthys raised her eyebrows and smirked. Bastet tilted her head and waited for an answer to this question.

                "Because I wish to pose a question to the five of you that you've probably never heard before: I intend to give Imhotep back his immortality, and I want your consent." Bastet blinked. Anubis frowned. Osiris put his hands on his hips and gave Nephthys what Bastet found to be the most amusing 'you _can't_ be serious' look she'd ever seen.

                "You think you'll get _my assent?" Seth scoffed. Nephthys shot a glare at him that would've killed a weak mortal. Bastet felt the electricity that passed between them; the loathing that seemed to suffocate the air hovering over them._

                "Even if I have to _force it out of you, _Seth_," Nephthys growled, jaw and fists clenched as if to restrain herself._

                Isis sighed and stepped between them. She glanced to Seth, then to her twin, and chuckled.

                "Seth, I should think it best to give Nephthys your regards and be on your way before she breaks her oath not to draw blood on this holy ground. Sister," she then added, regarding Nephthys, "If you seek our forgiveness of Imhotep right now, you seek too much. We know only what we remember, and that is that he betrayed us. If he has changed, if he has learned to put his past behind him and confront his troubles, then it is conceivable that he may find _some_ absolution, but not with Seth, who has for too long wanted you back to ever believe that another could take the place he once had at your side." Nephthys raised her eyebrows and frowned, and that was about the extent of her ability to look surprised. She glanced to Seth, who had a dark, heavy look in his eyes; a look of resignation Bastet had never seen on him before, though she got the nagging feeling that Nephthys probably had.

                "What would you have me do, Isis? Sit back and watch the man I love wither away and die?! Never! I'll _kill_ before I see any harm come to him!" Isis tilted her head and gave her twin sister a sad smile. "Anubis has agreed to let him stay in my care, but my influence would only keep his soul tied to me, not his mortality. Alone, without the Benben stone, I do not have the power to grant immortality." Yes, Bastet amended in a sudden epiphany; you are the Keeper of Immortality, it's guardian, it's companion, it's envoy, but the Benben stone was the only thing that could give something so precious as godlike-immortality.

                Seth's eyes went wide. He turned to his son and glared hard at him.

                "You let her _keep_ him?!" He demanded in a low, poisonous voice. Anubis narrowed his eyes and growled softly.

                "Of course I did!" Anubis snarled in response. "Leave me out of your dispute, father, I have no interest in fighting with you." Seth frowned.

                "Seth, like it or not, Imhotep is _mine," Nephthys snapped. He looked at her blankly._

                "I think I could forgive him, if I were able to test his loyalty, and see his change for myself," Bastet interrupted. It was the first time she'd spoken since the meeting had started, and now, everyone turned to give her inquiring looks. "Come now, see reason, my friends. I trust you've all heard Ma'at's rantings about how all gods act as scales to their opposites, balancing out the evil with the good and that chaos will ensue should this be disrupted and so on… Well, I've fallen under love's spell once or twice, and if Nephthys loves him, I realize that there is little she won't do for him, and personally, I'd rather Imhotep become indestructible, than have Nephthys turn herself into a mortal." A look dawned on Seth's face of horror at the very thought. Anubis had a similar expression. Isis and Nephthys, when Bastet looked to them, both wore identical smiles of appreciation. Osiris still looked a bit perturbed, however.

                "Honestly, Nephthys, do you _really want him to become immortal? Are you sure your infatuation won't die out in a few years?" Asked the Lord of the Dead. Nephthys gave him a hard look. She narrowed her eyes for a moment, as if contemplating this idea, but most likely she was simply trying to control a violent flow of words that ached to pour from her lips._

                "Infatuation is for amateurs, Osiris. Gods don't get infatuated with things. I love him as I've never loved anyone before, and that will never change." Bastet's gaze discreetly swept over to Seth and Anubis at this statement. Seth looked like he was imagining his hands around Nephthys's throat, but at the same time, he looked painfully hurt. Anubis looked a bit crestfallen, but only because he was standing before his own mother as she all but _announced_ the fact that the union which had bore him had been a feigned one.

                Isis sighed, and Osiris mimicked her. They exchanged cryptic glances with one another and Isis stepped forward and took her twin sister's hands.

                "I trust you in your decision, Nephthys, but I still do not trust him," she glanced back to her husband and he stepped forward to speak.

                "We must test his loyalty, both to you and to his new life," Osiris stated solemnly. Nephthys tilted her head towards him and smiled sadly, but whether her sadness was at the fact that they did not trust her judgment, or that she was unsure if Imhotep would pass the test, Bastet could not be sure.

                "How?" Nephthys's voice had a weary, impatient lull to it. 

                "Should we send him a dream?" Osiris glanced at Isis questioningly but she shook her head.

"That is the realm of the subconscious, which easily comprehends that dreams signify a lack of reality. It would be unfair." Nephthys smiled at her sister fondly.

"Very well. We'll think of some way to test him. If he remains loyal to you, he is yours. If not, he will die. We will notify you when we have decided." Nephthys blinked. It didn't seem very fair to Bastet, either, but she was smart enough to realize that Nephthys had no choice but to accept.

                "Alright," Nephthys replied softly. She approached the couple, clasped her sister's hands and smiled. "I will honor your decision." She started to turn, but stopped and added, "One more thing: I've been informed by one of my seers that the Benben stone has been removed from my temple." Osiris frowned.

                "I would know if one of the gods had it in their possession," he stated.

                "Then who has it?"

                Isis tilted her head and smiled, "The mortals, perhaps?" Her twin raised her eyebrows.

                "You let the Stone of Creation fall into _their custody?" Nephthys demanded._

                "Be calm," Osiris advised with a grin, "It can do no harm in their hands." Bastet's eyebrows shot up. She was finding great interest in this conversation; she'd only seen the Benben stone once before, when it had attended the birth of Horus, many years ago. It had been there to bless Isis's motherhood.

                "Yes," agreed Anubis, "they have no idea how to use it correctly. Not even my cult remembers the incantations anymore."

                "Then I will go…" She turned to her son and embraced him quickly, then she looked to Bastet and gave the cat-goddess a weary, but thankful smile, which Bastet returned knowingly. Seth was ignored. Nephthys's exit was less extravagant than her entrance: she simply walked to the edge of the Nile and stepped out over the water. As soon as her foot touched the river's glassy surface, she vanished, carried away by the sudden warm breeze that struck up around them.

                Bastet turned to leave, but paused when she heard with her excellent ears something Anubis was saying to his father.

                "—And I don't care what your excuse may be, either. I want you to stay away from him, and mother, too. If push comes to shove, I will not hesitate to intervene on their part—" Bastet quickly turned her attention away from the conversation. Anubis was threatening his father, and Bastet didn't want to be around when they started exchanging blows on holy ground. She walked a distance away from the others and crossed her arms over her chest, eyes closed, murmuring an ancient, magical chant. Instantly, a sheet of sand rose up from beneath her and created a cylindrical wall around her. Her chant finished, and the wall collapsed on itself. When the sand settled back among the papyrus weeds and flimsy dune-grass, the cat-goddess was gone.


	16. But it's so UGLY

Been a long time coming, no? oO; Got a few more chapters then I'm closing up shop for good. Sorry for the wait. The End. ^^

Btw, the Melting Pot has the best damn food EVER.

"Is that it, then? Is that Egypt, father? Are we there already? Father? Father!" Azana's yell brought Imhotep's mind back down to Earth. He glanced down at his hyperactive young child, then leaned over the railing of their balcony to peer a great distance ahead of the boat. The telltale blurry golden aspect of land sat at the very edge of the horizon; they'd finally arrived.

"I believe so." Imhotep smiled down at Azana, who grinned from ear to ear. She released his hand and stood on her tiptoes to get a better look.

"You'd better go find mother. I think she'd want to see this." He chuckled softly at her imperial command.

"Anything you say," he mocked genially, stroking her inky black hair and turning to walk inside. "Don't fall overboard, now," he called back to Azana. "Egypt has big sharks." This, however, only managed to subdue Azana for a brief moment, before it was forgotten when she started imagining that she could see the pyramids.

Imhotep had a delighted smile on his face when he opened the door to the room and stepped inside. It was cooler, away from the blazing Mediterranean sun, and Imhotep suddenly felt compelled to sit down and have a nice, cold drink, but the sun had stolen his morning energy, and instead, he laid down on the couch for a quick rest. In a way, he regretted the fact that they were almost there. He'd greatly enjoyed having Amaya all to himself for four days straight, with no intrusion from the outside world. He'd certainly enjoyed last night, if nothing else.

It still struck him as odd, that she'd changed how she addressed him when she said goodnight. To her, addressing someone as 'love' was a term of endearment, and sometimes sarcasm, but last night, instead of saying, "Get some sleep, love," as he would have expected, she said, "Get some sleep, my love," and after pondering _that_ specific phrase for hours on end, Imhotep had been left with a frustrating headache and an irritated attitude caused by a great deal of confusion.

"Even _I_ can't be sure it'll work…" Amaya's voice cut into the calm silence. Imhotep opened his eyes. She sounded so tired, and even a little morose, and it made a surge of emotions flood his mind, from pity to desire to uncertainty and doubt. "What if he _hasn't—Imhotep?" She called out to him as if she sensed his presence. He sat up and gave her an innocent smile, which she returned with muted joy. With a sigh, he stood and approached her, a curious look on his face. She blinked up at him wearily. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hands in a gesture of reassurance._

"I was wondering when you'd get back," he said softly. She looked away, as if he'd reprimanded her, though he had no idea what would make her think that. "We should reach port in fifteen minutes…" He leaned his head forward and gave her an affectionate grin. "Are you alright?"

Without warning, the boat's horn blasted, announcing its presence to all of Alexandria, but neither Imhotep nor Amaya jumped, they simply stood, looking at one another, each with a very different expression.

In the silence that Amaya left, refusing to answer, a loud, sarcastic voice sounded:

"C'mon, mum, dad; the bags aren't going to pack themselves." Azana stood in the balcony doorway with her hands on her hips, giving her parents a sarcastic grin. 

Amaya looked over Imhotep's shoulder and glanced towards her daughter with a small smile.

"You're right, love," she said softly, looking up at Imhotep. She sighed and pulled her hands from his grasp and turned away. He frowned, baffled and a little hurt, but quickly masked his expression when he noticed Azana watching him. He cleared his throat.

                "Alright, let's go," he commanded with a forced smile. He shoved his worries to the back of his mind as they started to gather their luggage.

                Egypt was nothing like it had been when Imhotep had last been there. Alexandria in itself was an addition. There had been no enormous, bustling port city at this side of the Nile delta when Imhotep had mortally walked the golden sands of his homeland.

                It was said that Alexander the Great founded the city with his Roman legions, but there was no hint of the culture of Rome in this Arabic world. All around him spotless white robes billowed, merchants called out to passersby, and the garble of a hundred different languages mingled in Imhotep's ears.

                "Busy, no?" He murmured to Amaya as they rumbled past a line of merchants, all selling the same general objects, all yelling tumultuously at each other for what they considered the offensive existence of the next. The sun beamed down at them as they sat in the back of the cab. The windows were rolled down, and Imhotep was all but physically restraining Azana from leaning completely out of the window. She was like a ball of electricity, zipping her attention from one thing to the next with untiring consistency. She, however, hadn't seen Egypt in her full-blown glory, eons earlier, and could therefore afford to be excited.

                Amaya didn't go for long without picking up on this.

                "Look at her," she murmured to Imhotep, regarding Azana with a smile. "She finds such joy in the smallest of things."

                "Yes," Imhotep replied, "but do we have the heart to tell her that they're all fake?" Amaya paused, and looked from Azana outside to the merchants, then back to Imhotep.

                "Perhaps you should trying seeing things from her perspective," she offered with one of those clever little smiles she gave him when she was feeling in a superior mood.

                "I cannot," he replied quickly, and a little bit spitefully. "Everything I look at reminds me of what I saw in my time; what I should be seeing." Amaya sighed, but it wasn't really a sigh, it was more like a half-sigh, half-chuckled.

                "Listen to yourself, Imhotep," she said with a laugh, "you sound like a bitter old man complaining to his bitter old friends about this terrible new world you see crashing down around you." She grabbed his hand and twined her fingers within his. "Change is inevitable. That's one of the first things I learned." She pointed out of her window and Imhotep followed her gaze. The view was breathtaking (he didn't rule out the possibility that this was due to some slight 'tampering' on Amaya's part). They'd just crested a hill, and the afternoon sun beamed down upon thousands of white houses and gold sand, both intricately interwoven to form a pearly labyrinth. The Nile glittered jovially. Far in the distance, the Pyramids broke the monotony of the rolling horizon. "So instead of looking out there and seeing what you used to see, look out there and see how much more beautiful your homeland grows with age."


	17. The Search

First and foremost, I appreciate everyone's comments, compliments, and suggestions. I've done my homework on this story, but I'm no expert. If you notice, ALL THE GODS are not included in every single mythological story, so why should I bust my ass to include every last one of them in mine? And there are hundreds of different angles, options, details that differ between sources. I chose one, a relatively reasonable one, and ran with it. That's called Artistic License. It's a godsend.

                It was raining. Again. For the life of him, Ardeth had never thought he'd live to see so much rain. London was like that sometimes though. Upon his first trip, a year or so ago, he'd marveled at the cloudy, overcast skies, and despaired at the lack of golden sunlight. London was a city of gray, and that was about the only thing he could think to say about her that didn't border on an insult.

                He was positive he stood out harshly amidst the sharply dressed Englishmen and their mistresses, all carrying dainty parasols, as he trekked down a particularly slushy street. He still wore his black robes, and didn't bother to hide his tattoos. Not that he ever _had_ bothered, but deep down, he got a mischievous sense of pleasure from seeing the shocked reactions on the faces of these, the most 'civilized', men.

He passed beneath a wrought iron gate, and entered a quiet, damp neighborhood. The streets were empty and the lamps flickered. Ardeth heaved a particularly heavy sigh and pushed onward, past numerous gravel driveways that stretched in all directions on either side of the street.

                The home of the O'Connells hadn't changed at all, other than the fact that the moment he stepped through the gates at the base of the driveway, two enormous golden dogs came bounding out of nowhere, running full tilt towards the Chief.

                "Don't be guard dogs," Ardeth pleaded with an irate frown. The dogs skidded to a halt feet from where he stood and plopped down onto their haunches to regard him with that typical dog-like look of blank amusement. Their tongues lolled out and one of them yipped at him playfully. Ardeth exhaled a breath that he didn't realize he was holding. He scratched the nearest one behind her ears as he continued up the driveway.

                The house, or small mansion, as it would be more accurate to call it, was made of granite, and gave off the cold impression of a medieval castle readying for an assault. However, this look was conflicted by the warm and inviting golden light that poured out of the large windows. Inside it was dry and cozy.

                Ardeth approached the front door without hesitation and knocked.

                "Alex, get the door," Evy called from her chair by the fire. The front door wasn't _really_ that far away, but she remained stationary nevertheless. The book she held in her lap was open three-quarters of the way. She'd just gotten to the good part. God, why did they always wait until she got to the best part before knocking on the blasted door?

                Alex plodded downstairs with a disdainful look. He saw Evy curled up deep in the cushions of the giant leather armchair, raised his eyebrow with that irritatingly Rick-like expression of disapproval, and opened the door.

                "Oh, hi Ardeth," Alex said with a smile. "It's Ardeth, mum."

                Evy's book toppled to the floor. She was on her feet in an instant, abandoning her chair as she hurried forward to see if Alex was hallucinating.

                Ardeth Bey stood just over the threshold, dripping wet, looking tired and hungry, but nevertheless pleased. He nodded to Evy and gave her a small smile. She returned it with a small laugh. She knew it was terrible, but she couldn't _help_ but think how much Ardeth reminded her of a wet poodle with his dripping curls.

                "Rick!" Evy called up the stairs in the general direction of her husband's study. "Wake up! We have a visitor." There was a loud thump, then the sound of something falling, and moments later, Rick O'Connell appeared at the top of the stairs looking ruffled and a bit disgruntled. His eyes darted over the scene down below him, and he groaned audibly.

                "What do _you_ want?" He demanded of Ardeth, though not in a completely malicious tone. Evy smirked. She knew full well why Rick wasn't too happy about seeing Ardeth; her husband had a going theory that every single time the Medjai chief appeared at their door, they ended up in Egypt. Somehow or another, they always ended up in Egypt.

                "He meant to say come in," said Evy apologetically. Ardeth smiled. Rick passed by Evy on his way to the kitchen and muttered: "No I didn't," irritably, but she ignored him.

                "Is something wrong?" She asked as she led him through the den and into the kitchen, where the stove blazed warmly. Ardeth eagerly took a seat beside it.

                "Yes," he replied simply. Alex grabbed a stool and pulled it up beside Ardeth with a broad grin on his face. Ardeth smirked. "Imhotep is back."

                The teacup Evelyn had been holding shattered as it hit the floor. Three pairs of eyes widened enormously as they stared at the quiet Arabian crouched by their stove.

                "He has much more power this time," Ardeth added; "And a weapon."

                "What weapon?" Demanded Rick.

                "A goddess."

                They were lucky Evy hadn't been holding anything that time, because she certainly would have dropped it. Her eyes were as wide as they could possibly get. Ardeth shifted closer to the fire.

                "You are a monotheistic people, I understand," he said gently, "but the power of the Old Gods still lives – in fact, it thrives…enough so, that the goddess I speak of was able to walk among the living as if she was a human herself."

                "That's insane," said Rick irritably. "Gods don't humanize themselves. Not Egyptian gods."

                "I agree," Evy murmured. "They would have seen it as degrading." Ardeth sighed.

                "Yes, most of them would, and they do," he agreed, "but this one… she's different. She doesn't do things like one would expect."

                "You mean she didn't listen to what the others were saying," Rick said.

                "Exactly."

                Rick sighed heavily. He circled the room once, head bowed in thought, as Evy tried to make tea again and Alex fetched a stool for Ardeth to sit on. The silence that ensued was quite uncomfortable.

                "Why do you want our help, Ardeth?" Evy asked softly. "We can't stand against gods."

                "Alone, no one can." He agreed.

                "Wait, now let me get this straight," Rick interrupted. His voice seemed very tired. "Imhotep's back –_ again_ – and he wants to take over the world – _again_ – and this time, he has a weapon so powerful that we don't stand a chance against him."

                "No," said Ardeth.

                "No?"

                "We do have a chance." Ardeth stood up to face Rick and Evelyn. Then he turned and started to pace. "Recently, an extremely valuable artifact was recovered at a site several miles south of Cairo, from the temple of Nephthys. It was sent here, to London, to the museum." Six pairs of eyes stared intently at the Arabian, urging him to continue with their solemn silence. "The stone of Creation," he finished. "We need the Benben."

                Ardeth really had no idea what it was supposed to look like. Certainly, the stone from which life itself had first sprung forth would be considerably imposing, would it not? From the Benben, so went the stories, the Sun God Ra sprung forth. And from him, there came Shu and Tefnut, and from them, Geb and Nut, and from them, Isis and her siblings, including Seth.

                Seth, whom he served now without reserve, for the safety of the Medjai. For the future of his people. For them, he bowed before an evil God.

                For them, he would give up his life, as he had vowed to do upon becoming the Chief Medjai. For them, he would stand before a goddess and her master. For them he would journey across the world, watch the Nile turn to blood, hear the screams of a thousand dying children.

                Yes, for _them_. For the Medjai.

                Horses are a way of life for a desert people. But they're bouncy, and during long rides, uncomfortable. They don't give you much room to ponder. Now, packed snugly inside a warm, dry car as it rumbled through London streets towards the museum, Ardeth could think with a still mind. And he didn't like what he thought.

                He had no one to fight for.

                He had gone for years with his people at his back and by his side, close friends, companions, warriors the lot of them. Over the years, however, his responsibility had become so great a weight upon his shoulders, that he no longer had time for camaraderie. Nor for women.

                He was a Chief. He had a duty to protect his people at all costs. If that cost included celibacy, so be it.

                But that didn't quiet the ache.

                "We're here," said Rick, voice laced with excitement and sarcasm. One by one they filed out of the car, up towards the imposing building. A pair of guards met them at the door.

                "We were just closing up, Mrs. O'Connell," said one, a tall, lanky young man with pale eyes and a mat of red hair. His companion, a squat, sharp-eyed man with a cynical eye, looked Ardeth up and down darkly.

                "Yes, gentlemen, I know," said Evy with a hopeful smile, "but it seems I left my purse inside, and we were just on our way to dinner, so I was wondering if I could pick it up." The guards exchanged quick glances. But who would argue with the Head Curator?

                "Alright," the short one shrugged and turned to unlock the door. He eyed Ardeth as they passed.

                "The Nephthys exhibit is down this hall," Evy murmured. She had that look on her face, the one Ardeth had seen several times before, the one that told him she would dive headfirst into trouble if it meant getting a look at the stone of creation itself. She'd dive into a crumbling temple for it.

                But would she die for it?

                That did not matter. He could not let himself think of death, or he'd start to remember those nightmares Seth had sent him. The bodies, strewn carelessly about the desert. The red sun, the Nile's bloody waters.

                The screams.

                Ardeth blinked. The further they went down the hallway, the darker it got. Evy was in the lead, with only a small flashlight to guide them. Alex was trailing at Ardeth's side, unusually silent for once.

                "Here it is," Evy's flashlight stopped moving, and the sound of Evelyn fumbling with the key reached his ears. He took a deep breath. Here, he would find it, the Benben, the mound of earth which first broke the surface of the primordial oceans of chaos.

                "Rick, light the lamps," Evy murmured. Her husband complied without argument. Something about this place seemed to weigh heavily upon their nerves. Something about it brought out the instinctual need for awe and silence.

                Light flared to life to Ardeth's right. He blinked, dazzled by its brightness. It lit half of the room in a golden, flickering glow. Glass cases winked back at them from their posts atop shelves and pedestals. Parchment, encased in glass, adorned the walls at intervals. Gold glittered from within some of the cases.

                "I see no stones here," Ardeth murmured, casting a dark glare up at the ceiling, hoping Seth was watching. He turned to the O'Connells, who in turn, looked to him. Alex fidgeted under his gaze. Rick crossed his arms.

                "Didn't you say it was here?" He demanded irritably. Ardeth nodded.

                "It should be here."

                "What's it look like?" Alex asked, eyes wide in a semblance of innocence. Ardeth arched an eyebrow at him.

                "I do not know. I suppose it looks like a very large rock."

                "We didn't get any big rocks with this exhibit. Only a few small ones." Ardeth sighed. He turned and leaned back against the nearest wall, closing his eyes to think.

                Seth had said the Benben was here. He'd said it would be with the items brought from Nephthys's temple. What was he supposed to do? Go around asking all the artifacts if they happened to be the stone that created all life?

                Something was poking at the back of his head. He glanced back to find a framed piece of parchment, just like the others, encased in glass.

                Except that this one was torn in half. As he glanced over it, he noticed the hieroglyph of Seth in one of the lines of writing. Intrigued, he turned and squinted to make out some of the faded glyphs.

                "Nephthys, night to Isis's day, scorned the love of Seth in punishment for his love of her priestesses and the murder of her brother, Osiris. She came then to Egypt to give the Voice of the Gods to the mortals. The Seers, children of Nephthys all, were appointed to each god, all but to Seth…" he trailed off. "It stops there."

                "Just a story," Evy shrugged. "We can't know if it's true." Ardeth turned to her.

                "Yes," he replied, "we can."


	18. A Hotel in Egypt

Amaya blushed. She actually blushed. It was probably the most alluring thing she had ever done. The clerk stared blankly up at them from behind a thick marble counter.

Imhotep turned back to the hotel consierge with a sly grin.

"Yes, one bed will be fine."

As they followed their luggage carriers up to their room, Amaya was quiet, and she wouldn't make eye contact with him. Azana buzzed about, poking through doors and around corners in the eager, inquisitive manner of over-excited children. The bellboy led Imhotep into their room, then opened the door that adjoined Azana's room with theirs.

When he was gone, and Azana had flitted into her room to start investigating her new surroundings, Imhotep turned to Amaya.

"It would have seemed unnatural," he apologized, suddenly sheepish. Amaya turned to him and smiled.

"I know," she replied. "I don't mind."

"No?" He moved forward and tilted his head to look down at her. The sunlight filtered through sheer, gauzy drapes, falling on her in a hazy glow. She stood, proud and firm, staring thoughtfully out at the sillhouette of Alexandria, washed orange and gold with the light of the setting sun. She was dressed in traveling clothes: black, heavy fabrics, clean lines and no frivolous details. He didn't really like lace and sparkle, and she didn't seem to favor it either. Most of her clothing was very simple.

"No, Imhotep." There was a sigh in her voice. He leaned closer, delighted with the warmth that flushed through his body. A part of him wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and kiss her fiercely, but fear held him back.

"Marcus," he corrected softly. He wasn't sure why he said it. Perhaps because he was angry at her for being a goddess. For being something far too superior to him in every way. He felt small and useless next to her, a creature worshipped for thousands of years by the most influential civilization in human history. A goddess of Egypt.

"We are trapped by formality," she murmured. He blinked at her.

Suddenly, she was right in front of him. Her hands were on his shoulders, a firm grip that pushed him back a step. Her blazing green eyes bored through his gaze and into his soul, filling him with a rush of mad desire. His heart leapt to his throat.

"Do you want this life, Imhotep?" She demanded, leaning against him, forcing him to acknowledge her body pressed against his, every single curve of it. He fought for air, but his lungs refused to cooperate.

"What?" He finally managed.

"This life. This time. These people. _Do you want this?_" Her voice was low, almost pleading. He gazed into her eyes and wondered what had happened to his docile companion, the human Amaya.

Imhotep placed his hands firmly at her hips and pulled himself gently from her grasp. He frowned.

"What do you want me to say?" Fire blazoned in Amaya's eyes. For a moment she looked like she wanted to throw something, or destroy something. But as suddenly as her anger had arisen, it faded, and a troubled expression crossed her face. She looked up at him, and he saw sadness in her eyes.

"Imhotep," she stopped and glanced away. Baffled, Imhotep stepped forward and brushed his fingertips over her arm, a light, fluttering touch. She sighed. "Do you fear me?"

For a moment, he couldn't answer. He had been taught since he was a child to fear the gods, because of their power and their tempers. But any fear he felt for Amaya had long ago fused into a strange mixture of devotion and hopelessness. This situation was beyond impossible. It would do no good to pretend otherwise.

"No," he replied in a quiet voice.

"Are you humoring me?" He smiled.

"When am I not?" A grin curled her lips, and she shook her head as if in exasperation.

"You never answered my first question. Do you want this life?" Imhotep sighed. He fought the urge to simply say, _I'll take any life, as long as it's with you_. A pang of bitterness hit him. How long was it now? A few weeks, at most.

"It would seem my wants are irrelevant. This life will end whether I want it to or not." They had not discussed this in months. It was time to.

But before he could go on, he looked into her eyes and went very still. Tears glittered there, threatening to fall, and they shocked Imhotep as much as they worried him. Had he said something wrong? He had never, ever seen her cry before. Perhaps he had assumed that gods could not cry.

But Amaya was watching him with her lips pressed to a thin line, her hands balled into fists. And when she spoke, her voice was a mixture of pain and disbelief.

"Do you really think I would let him take you from me?"


	19. I love you

**Chapter 20**

Words failed him. Thoughts failed him. Amaya's deep green eyes glittered in the soft light, and all Imhotep could do was stare at her in shock. He vaguely registered her hands grasping his. His mind whirled with disbelief, with confusion. Everything he'd experienced, everything he'd learned from her had led him to believe that he would lose it all to an eternity of torture. He would lose her. He would lose his daughter. He would lose happiness.

But her question had been rhetorical. It had been possessive, and fierce. She spoke of defying Anubis. Defying the most powerful gods of Egypt.

"Imhotep," her voice was soft and low, that intimate whisper that would either save him or destroy him. "Look at me." He blinked at her, and the closeness of her body, the touch of her fingertips against his palms, that gentle smile on her face, brought him instant clarity.

"Why?" He wondered, tilting his head closer to her. It would be enough, just to hear her say it. It would make him the happiest man in the history of the Earth. _By the Gods, Amaya, please say it._

Amaya lifted a hand and pressed it to his cheek, guiding him closer to her with that delicate touch. Her lips hovered just out of reach, tormenting him. His eyes were locked in her gaze, trapped. He could feel her power melting through him, encompassing him, laying him bare before her. He'd never felt so gloriously helpless.

"Because," the quaver in her voice was almost imperceptible, "I love you."

He felt himself smile, but the amount of joy swelling inside him could not be expressed by any mere smile. Everything that had come before this, the pain, the suffering, the sadness, was all worth it for this one moment.

He kissed her, the goddess, the woman who had defied the universe to save him. Gods her lips were so soft! He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his, unable to keep that damn smile off his face. Amaya wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself closer to him, and he could just barely hear the soft moan that rose in her throat.

And then, from the doorway, an enthusiastic, "_Gross!_"

They both chuckled softly and turned to Azana, who stood in the doorway with her face scrunched up in childish disgust and her arms crossed angrily. It occurred to Imhotep that his little girl, with fake memories given to her by a goddess, had probably seen her parents kissing once or twice before. He shot a sly glance over at Amaya.

"There's someone at the door," Azana said, and turned on her heel and exited the room promptly.

Imhotep raised an eyebrow and turned his gaze to his goddess. She had a resigned expression on her face.

"It's a Seer," she told him, "though I can't tell why she's here." Imhotep frowned. He was very reluctant to let her out of his grasp. When she was close to him, touching him, he was whole and warm and at peace. And he had finally managed to get her to admit that she loved him. The Seer's arrival could not have come at a worse time.

But Imhotep knew that this could not wait. No god would ever send a Seer as a messenger if it weren't a grave emergency.

They went to the door, hand in hand, to greet the young woman leaning against the doorframe precariously. Azana stood watching her with a look of suspicion. Imhotep set a hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"Kaija," Amaya said softly, catching the drunk woman's attention.

The instant the Seer recognized Amaya, she dropped to her knees in a position of respect and humility.

"What's she doing, father?" Azana whispered. Imhotep leaned down to respond quietly.

"She doesn't feel very well. Let's go out on the balcony while your mother helps her feel better." Azana's little hand clasped Imhotep's, but before he could let go of Amaya's hand, the goddess pulled him closer and pressed her lips to his in a brief, intoxicating kiss.

Imhotep followed his daughter to the balcony, almost in a daze. And all he could think was: _one bed._

* * *

More soon. My absence has been inexcusable.

To answer Kendra Chetnova's question, on why I didn't give the gods animal heads, I've sort of given the gods a modern update. In Ancient Egyptian mythology, the gods were distant and uninvolved in mortal life (unlike the Greeks, who constantly meddled), and since Amaya obviously decides to come down and save Imhotep, I wanted all the gods to be equally as personable. They wear human faces most of the time, but when they're angry or upset, they sort of morph into their animal face, like Anubis in Chapter 9, where he gets pissy and his face warps into that of a jackal.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone who's had patience with my absence. I've started college, gotten my head back on straight, and I'm ready to come back to this story and give it the proper attention it deserves.

So! Expect the possibility of a sex scene. I haven't decided on that quite yet. And expect the Benben to come to Egypt with the O'Connells. And, somewhere down the road, expect Seth to get a good ass-kicking.


	20. Stop SAYING That

"Something's just not right." It was the fifth time she'd said it, but to Rick it felt like the hundredth. He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling.

"I _know_," he replied, trying to keep the disdain from his tone. "We're going back to Egypt to fight a dead guy we've already killed _twice_." Evie was pacing the richly carpeted floor, back and forth, pausing every now and then to bite her thumbnail or sigh heavily.

Really. Just a day of peace and quiet before going after Imhotep. Was that too much to ask? The hotel they had rented was luxurious and pricey. Because he'd be damned if they were going to spend another trip to Egypt huddled together in a tent surrounded by stinking camels. They were doing it right this time.

"Not that," she replied, frowning over at Rick as he lay sprawled on the bed, enjoying the breeze that flowed through the open balcony doors. "This whole thing. Ardeth coming to London, asking us to come back to Egypt. There was something strange about him. And that _man_, Lunderman." Rick quirked an eyebrow and sat up on his elbows. A little flare of jealousy lit up inside him, that possessive thing that wanted to rip out any male eyes that happened to fall on his wife.

"_Marcus_? The lawyer? What the hell does _he_ have to do with any of this?" He demanded.

"He's… I don't know, I saw him a week or so ago, and he reminded me of Imhotep."

Rick tried not to roll his eyes. He really tried.

For the past ten years, every bald, tanned young man they passed reminded Evie of Imhotep. It was tiring, to say the least. How many times had Rick had to assure her that the Year of the Scarab had nothing to do with their dead mummy friend?

"You must've been imagining things, hon. There's no way our extremely wealthy, totally English, non-murderous neighbor could _possibly_ be Imhotep."

Evie walked over and sat down beside him. He grinned, but she was in no mood to play. She crossed her arms and sent him a dark glare.

"Something's not right, Rick. Admit it. It's not just that you don't want to be here, chasing after dead priests and risking your life. It's something… scary."

Rick reached out and pulled Evie into his arms. She was quiet, like she always was when she was upset.

"Don't worry about it, babe. It's just the pre-mummy jitters." Evie sighed again. In the next room, Alex was shuffling around, talking to himself. He missed his little girlfriend, Azana. They were a cute little couple, truth be told. And Rick had never in his life thought that he'd live to see the day that a 10-year-old girl could lead Alex around like he was on a leash.

Ah, l'amour. Rick wondered vaguely if children could be aware of their soulmate.

Alex went quiet. Rick only noticed because he'd been letting his mind wander about young'uns and first loves and other sorts of nonsense.

And then Alex appeared at the doorway.

"Mum?" He said softly.

"Alex, you look pale!" Evie stood up and moved over to their son, placing a hand on his forehead. Rick followed, frowning with concern.

"I don't feel too good," Alex conceded, giving a little shrug.

And then he collapsed.


	21. Old Souls

"Your god is Anubis," Amaya noted, escorting Kaija into the living area, where a plush armchair waited for the both of them. The poor girl was trembling, but Amaya could not tell whether that was from fear or exhaustion. She waited until Amaya had taken a seat before doing so herself, and every movement was muted and unnatural.

"Yes, my lady," the Seer replied, staring resolutely at the ground. Amaya gestured to the pot of steaming Chai on the little table that sat between them, but her mortal visitor shook her head, glancing up uncertainly. Perhaps she was wondering why a goddess was offering her tea.

Amaya sighed.

"You must not fear me, child," she said softly. "I would never harm you, and my son will always protect you." Kaija nodded, another rigid movement. "Look at me," Amaya commanded, not unkindly.

Kaija's honey brown eyes met with Amaya's jade green gaze. She was a nice-looking young woman, this Seer, but misfortune and pain had begun creasing lines of weariness into her copper skin. Amaya searched past her eyes and found a surprisingly powerful thirst, a desire for alcohol that ruled over every waking thought.

"You have a problem," Amaya stated, tilting her head in sympathy. Her guest cast her gaze back to the floor in shame, but Amaya reached out and lifted her chin with a finger. "Anubis can help you." Kaija's eyes went very wide.

"He frightens me," she whispered. Amaya let a small smile curl her lips.

"Anubis likes to be feared. He thinks fear equals respect." She took a sip of her tea, registering the sweet bite of spices on her tongue. Her gaze shifted to the balcony doors, through the long, pale drapes that concealed from her the husband and child that she loved so dearly. She could see their silhouettes outlined in the Alexandria sun. Amaya wondered what it would be like to have another silhouette there, her true son. He could be childish enough when he wanted to be, and fiercely protective. He would make a good older brother. "But even so," she continued, setting down her teacup, "he would not hesitate to help you if you asked."

Kaija looked like she wanted to believe Amaya. The look on her face was so pitiful it almost brought the goddess to tears.

"Trust me, child," Amaya said, "he will help you." And then she sat up straight and took a deep breath, clearing her mind of this mortal's thirst and pain. "Now, why did Anubis send you when he could so easily have come to me himself?"

Kaija did not waste time. Her words darted straight to the point.

"I was attacked by the Medjai chief several weeks ago. He demanded any information on the Cursed One. I told him what I knew: that enmity will not be found where it is sought." Amaya nodded. Seers had no restrictions set for whom they could tell their visions to. Anyone who asked the right questions were free to hear their answers. Which was why they'd been so closely guarded in Ancient Egypt. "My lord sent me to warn you of this. It is clear that the Medjai knew of the Cursed One's presence in the living world. The only way for him to know this would be through another god."

"Seth," Amaya growled. Kaija shrank back from her. Amaya reached out without hesitation and placed her hand on Kaija's, pouring strength into her. She was a goddess, she had plenty to spare. And Kaija was a pitiful creature. "You never told me why Anubis did not come to me himself."

"I cannot be sure why, my lady. He has not contacted me since giving me his message. That was a week ago. He seemed distracted."

Amaya nodded grimly. It was extremely possible that Anubis had been following Seth. And if Seth was up to something, then Anubis would have stepped in to confront him, or perhaps taken steps to interfere with his father's plan.

"Thank you for your warning, Kaija," Amaya stood, gesturing for Kaija to do so as well. When she did, it was with strength and sturdiness. The goddess smiled. All Kaija needed was a little hope.

Amaya walked with the Seer to the door, and kissed the young woman's forehead in a blessing.

"Remember, you are a favorite of the gods," she reminded Kaija. "All you need to do is ask."

When the Seer was gone, Amaya bolted the door shut behind her and walked up to the balcony doors. She lifted the drapes aside and watched and listened as Imhotep told his daughter the Ancient Egyptian myth of the Creation of the World.

"But wouldn't the Stone of Creation be, like, the entire Earth?" Azana wondered, staring down several floors to the bustling street below.

"The land came from the Benben, but the Stone itself, a living creature, would have to be smaller, so that man could not build cities and sewers on top of it. That way it could go where it wanted." Azana giggled.

"Stones can't _walk_, silly." Amaya grinned. Imhotep leaned his elbows onto the balcony railing and stared off into the distance. In his crisp white shirt and khaki pants, he looked like the modern gentleman. But his eyes were ancient, and his mind was beautiful. And Amaya wouldn't trade him for anything.

"No, but people can carry them," he replied, glancing over at his little girl with an affectionate grin.

His eye caught Amaya's figure in the window, and he turned to look at her. His smile made her want to touch him, to hold him. She could almost feel his skin against hers, his body, so warm and comforting, pressed to hers.

So she opened the glass-paned balcony doors and stepped out in the brilliant Egypt sun.

"Allo mum! Dad was just telling me that stones can walk!" Azana chirped, grinning up at Imhotep like a little imp.

He laughed. "That's exactly what I was doing," he admitted, sliding over to give her a place at the balcony railing, between husband and child. She slipped her hand into his, and he blinked, as if surprised by such an open gesture of affection. Then the smiled again, and, gods, she just wanted to kiss him.

But that would have evoked another emphatic "_gross!_" from Azana, so she stifled the urge and settled for squeezing his hand.

"Your daughter insists upon seeing the bazaar before we start our tour," he told her in that way that parents have of deciding whether or not to do something their child wants to do, while in the presence of said child. Amaya glanced down at Azana, who stared back with an innocent smile.

"Alexandria's bazaar _is_ world-renowned," she mused, with a 'hmm' attached to the end of her sentence.

"And she'd be able to see the cobra games," Imhotep added. Oh, those were fun to watch. Five or six men would sit in a circle around a cobra with coins scattered over its coiled body. The man with the most coins at the end of the game, assuming he was still alive, would win. Azana had gone on for _days_ about seeing one after she'd read about them in a travel book about Alexandria.

Amaya sighed. But she was grinning.

"I suppose we could visit the bazaar tomorrow."

Azana squealed and jumped up and down, and then she wrapped her arms around Amaya's waist. Amaya stroked her daughter's inky hair. And then the girl was hugging Imhotep around his waist as well. And then she was gone, saying something about picking out an outfit and counting her money.

In the silence that followed, she could sense Imhotep's hesitation.

"What's bothering you?" She asked, leaning into him. He smelled like leather and spices. She could feel his soul against hers, old and strong. He had a truly good soul, once warped by death and magic and hate, now gentle and warm.

"I've been wondering about Azana," he said quietly. "Is she… what is she?"

Amaya shrugged. "She is part of my soul and part of your blood." She could remember the grim determination on Imhotep's face, that day in Hell, when she had saved him. He had been willing to risk her wrath to get even with the O'Connells.

"She was created when I was created?"

"When your body was created," she corrected.

"Because I had a soul. Then whose soul does she have?"

"I told you, she has my soul." Then she realized why he was having such a hard time comprehending the idea. "I never told you how gods reproduce," she said apologetically. Imhotep raised his eyebrows, but otherwise he kept his mouth shut. And whatever thoughts he had running through his head, Amaya let them be.

"A new god is born from the blood of one god and the soul of another," she explained. "Anubis was born of Seth's soul and my blood. Which means that he takes after his father, but he is bonded to me."

"He loves you more," Imhotep clarified. Amaya nodded. There was no love lost between Seth and Anubis, but deep down, son and father _did _love each other, if only just enough to keep them from _killing_ each other.

"But doesn't this method only work with gods?" Amaya blinked at him.

"Of course not. Where do you think the Pharaohs came from?"

"Jackals," he teased, grinning down at her. She raised an eyebrow. But before she could reply, he leaned down and pressed his lips fiercely to hers, overwhelming her with the passion that radiated from him. Hunger awoke deep inside her, and she pressed her body close to his. Imhotep was all lithe muscle, hard and strong. She slid her hands up his chest, over his broad shoulders, leaned forward to deepen the kiss. Felt more than heard the growl that rose from deep in his throat.

"I think we should go inside," he whispered into her lips. Amaya grinned. _One bed_.

"Good idea."


	22. The Cobra Games

The doctors had said it was just a migraine. Alex didn't ask why a ten-and-a-half year old would be getting migraines. Deep down, he knew exactly what had happened.

Because he'd _seen_ things.

There was not much surviving literature on Seers. They had a significant presence in the courts of the Pharaohs. Cleopatra was said to have consulted them in her lifetime. They were messengers from the gods of Anceint Egypt, given to mortals by Nephthys, as her way of paying them back for their loyalty and worship. And that was about all Alex knew.

So, given the fact that a little rock had spoken to him, and he had migraines that snatched him up and threw him into another world, where he spoke to a goddess, Alex was pretty sure he was a Seer.

And to be honest, he wasn't all that thrilled about it.

But he could remember the goddess, warm and loving, soothing the pain that wracked his body. And when he thought about her, he didn't really mind the migraines all that much. She was beautiful, and kind, and she told him she was sorry for the pain her presence caused. And that she would always take care of him. And that he must take very good care of her Benben stone while she was away.

She had also said that she would see him soon. Which meant another migraine might be on the way at any time.

His mum and dad, for their part, had accepted the freak migraine as travel fatigue and, though worried, had decided to trust the doctor.

But still, they didn't give him much breathing room. Just in case another headache struck him down in the middle of the street or something.

So they were always at least a few feet away from him, even as they made their way through the bazaar. Alex would wander off after an interesting trinket, and Evie would say something like "No more than ten feet, Alex!"

Which was pretty cruel of her, but Alex could understand. Slavers still stalked these bazaars, looking for easy prey. But Alex was not easy prey. And when someone was in trouble (especially Alex), his dad could cross ten feet in less than a heartbeat.

But he did manage, after a while, to lengthen his mother's leash to about fifteen, maybe seventeen feet. And that's how far away they were when Alex found the stall for the cobra games. A small crowd was gathered around the makeshift fence the gamers erected for the safety of onlookers.

Alex stepped up to the fence, and a flash of black to his left caught his eye.

"_Zee?!_" His partner in crime nearly jumped a foot in the air. She whirled on him, green eyes wide as saucers.

"_Alex!_" she shrieked, and threw her arms around him in a hug that not only knocked him off balance, but also very nearly choked him to death. He fought her off, much to the amusement of several onlookers. The gamers chuckled. A new game was about to start, and their cobra had not yet been let loose from its box, so they could afford the distraction.

"What're you doing here?!" Zee demanded, punching him playfully in the arm. He winced.

"Saving the world," he replied. "What are _you_ doing here?" She linked her arm in his and grinned.

"Watching the cobra games."

"Zee, I have to talk to you about something," Alex dropped his voice to a whisper, just as the game started. She shook her head. "It's _important_," he urged, tugging her back from the stall. She frowned deeply at him, raising her fist for another punch. "I mean it!"

She must have heard the worry in his tone, because she dropped her hand and moved closer.

"What is it?" She demanded.

Alex pulled the Benben out of his pocket.

"That's the stone we got from the museum," she observed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

"It's the Benben, Zee. It… it started talking to me." Azana laughed.

"Very funny," she sneered. But she did lean closer to inspect it. "It looks pretty normal to me," she noted.

And then a voice, deep and familiar, carried over to them.

"Azana, if you keep wandering off like that, someone's going to steal you and turn you into a mummy." Zee turned and grinned up at her father, Marcus Lunderman. But Alex _knew_ that voice. And it couldn't have belonged to anyone else.

Before he could say anything, though, Imhotep glanced down at the small object in Alex's palm and his easy-going grin disappeared instantly. He leaned down to look Alex directly in the face.

"Where did you find that?"


	23. The Battle

He knew what it was almost without thinking. He had only seen it once, at the ceremony that initiated Seti into his throne. And almost three thousand years later, he knew in an instant that the little rock Alex O'Connell held in his palm was the Stone of Creation.

By the gods! And he was probably the only mortal left on this earth who knew how to use it! He could return to his beloved time! He could make himself immortal again! He could rule over the civilized world!

"Where did you find that?" He asked in a very carefully controlled tone. He would never snatch it from the boy, not in front of Azana.

Alex said nothing, just continued to stare wide-eyed at him. And Imhotep realized that Alex _knew_.

"Dad?" Azana asked, snatching Imhotep's attention from Alex. He straightened, taking a step back from Alex. A flash of movement caught his eye, and then another. Imhotep's gaze went straight to Amaya's, twenty feet away, watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. And the second blur of movement - ah, the Medjai chief, approaching quickly and with murder in his eye.

Imhotep glanced back at the stone, and the boy who stood holding it, frozen in place by some unseen force. Imhotep glanced back up at the Medjai.

He could destroy them, with the stone. All of the damnable Medjai. He could wipe them from the face of the Earth. He could be as powerful as a god! He could get Anck-su-namun back!

Imhotep's thoughts stopped in their tracks.

Because he knew that last thought was something that he did not truly want. He no longer wanted Anck-su-namun, his dark-eyed, sharp-tongued ancient lover. No. Imhotep wanted eyes as green as jade, hair like rivers of black silk, glowing bronze skin, and her laughter, her smile, her touch.

But not her power. He wanted Amaya in so many ways. But he did not want her power.

So Imhotep curled his hands into fists and stood back and watched as the Medjai chief snatched the Benben from Alex's palm. In a flash of light, Ardeth's sword was out, and he was advancing on Imhotep with a snarl on his face. Imhotep stepped in front of Azana and Alex instinctively, shielding them from the Medjai's madness and his blade.

"Finally," Ardeth Bey hissed, "Three thousand years, and _finally_ you will be destroyed."

Imhotep leveled his gaze into Ardeth's black eyes. Eyes consumed by another, by one more powerful than any human.

"Seth," Imhotep's voice was soft and even. A chuckle rose from Ardeth's throat.

"Clever little rat," he hissed.

"Alex!" Mere feet away, Evie and Rick, the two banes of Imhotep's existence, came into view. The people around them had stopped, staring wide-eyed at what they might have thought was a performance of some sort. A wide circle had formed around Imhotep and Ardeth.

Ardeth's gaze flickered to the O'Connells. Otherwise, he ignored them.

"I will cut you down in this world," Seth hissed through Ardeth's voice. "And then I will destroy your soul in the next." Imhotep felt a grim fury settle deep within him. If that was how this would end, then so be it. His soul would die, and he would cease to exist.

But he would not go without a fight.

"Azana," he said softly, not daring a glance back at his daughter, who stood terrified at his back. "Go find your mother."

For a moment, the little girl didn't move. And then he heard a muted sob, and her footsteps leading her through the crowd.

Imhotep smiled.

Ardeth lunged.

And all hell broke loose.

Imhotep was a warrior. He had a warrior's soul. Priest or no, he had been as skilled in combat as any Medjai in his time. And staring into Ardeth's mad eyes awoke those old instincts. He felt adrenaline flood his veins, pounding through his body and into his head like a war-drum. He dodged Ardeth's first strike, lightning fast, lithe as a snake, just as he'd been taught. Seth may have been in control of the Medjai's body, but he could not use any of his immortal strength. Only in his own form was Seth eminently powerful. In a mortal's body, he could only use a mortal's strength.

But the Medjai had a blade, and Imhotep did not.

With his quickness, Imhotep was able to get past the sword and land two strikes that splintered ribs in the Medjai's chest.

Seth shrieked. His next blow landed true, slicing into Imhotep's side. He felt the metal glance off a rib and despite the fire that engulfed his body, he was thankful. If that blade had cut between ribs, he would have lost a lung.

The wound slowed him down, but he was still able to dodge another vicious strike. Seth's wound would cause him much greater pain than Imhotep's gash. So the Medjai backed off, breathing hard, left arm protecting his ribs. Imhotep took a moment to press his hands as hard as he could against his wound. The pain screamed through him, like scarabs beneath his skin, biting, clawing, ripping flesh. He felt the ground begin to spin beneath him. Imhotep dared a glance down at his bloodstained side.

And that's when Seth struck. One moment he was across the ring of onlookers, the next he was standing inches away from Imhotep, glaring into his eyes with all the hatred of three thousand years of unsatisfied vengeance.

Imhotep almost didn't feel the blade slice through his abdomen. He stood for what seemed like hours, frozen, afraid to breathe, or blink, or think.

But he felt the blade when Ardeth pulled it back out of him. It was the Homdaii again, the tongue, the eyes, the scarabs. Buried alive, burning in his own skin, pain like nothing any mortal could ever experience.

Imhotep fell to his knees, hands clasped tightly over the wound that had nearly run him through. Warm, silky blood slipped through his fingers, staining the sand and pavement beneath him. It was almost ironic, how similar his wound was to the wound Rick O'Connell had dealt him almost eleven years ago.

But he wasn't thinking about irony.

He was thinking about Amaya. In death, he would not remember her. He would know nothing of the time they had spent together, of the touch of her skin, her lips, her smile. But she would remain, conscious and immortal, and she would suffer. His death would hurt her more than it would hurt him. He could remember the pain of Anck-su-namun's death. He knew what it felt like.

Seth was saying something. His words were fuzzy and muted in Imhotep's mind. But he could still see. The shocked faces of strangers, the snarl on the Medjai's face…and the look of desperate fear on Alex O'Connell's face. He looked so young, so innocent. The little idiot. Why hadn't he run when Azana had left?

Focused on Alex's face, Imhotep felt clarity wash over him for a brief instant. He saw Seth facing the boy, saw his sword lift into the air, glinting in the sunlight.

And heard him, "— might as well destroy you too, little Seer."

Alex was only a few feet away. It stretched out like miles to Imhotep. But he could make it. He judged the distance, the depth of the strike.

And he crashed into Alex just as Ardeth's blade carved into Imhotep's back.

Something that sounded very much like the explosion of the world thundered through the air. Something had broken the spell.

Imhotep couldn't move. Every muscle in his body was white hot with pain. His wounds burned in the sand. His pulse was beginning to slow.

But he could still see.

He saw Rick and Evelyn rush into the circle, dead silent in fear. They reached Alex, unharmed but for a few scrapes when Imhotep had shoved him out of the path of Ardeth's blade.

And then, like the break of dawn to a blind man, Amaya appeared. And she wasn't human anymore. His lover, his wife, was glowing with power. It washed over him like waves in a warm, sun-drenched sea. But he could feel her fury humming underneath that power. She knelt by his side, leaning over him, sliding her hands over his body, finding his wounds, clasping his hands tightly.

"Imhotep," she whispered, luring him into her eyes, soothing away his pain.

"I love you," he told her, tasting blood on his tongue. He didn't dare close his eyes, no matter how tired he was getting. If he closed them now, he would never open them again.

Amaya smiled down at him.

"Do you trust me?"

He nodded. She had his trust and his heart. It was all he had to give.

She leaned close to him and whispered: "Then let go."

So he did. He let go of his will to live. His pulse slowed, and his muscles relaxed. And the air sighed from his lungs.

And he died.

Because he trusted her.


	24. The End

An abyss, filled with emptiness and yet somehow bursting with life. His physical form no longer existed. Pain and pleasure entwined, coursing through his non-existent body. It was the home of the ancients, which he had glimpsed for a heartbeat when he had first been resurrected by Nephthys. Amaya.

Like water filling a floating jug, weight filled Imhotep's body, until he was resting on a solid surface in the empty fullness of death. Voices echoed everywhere, conversations, emotions, laughter. It was as if he was on one side of a wall, and on the other side there was a great feast full of commotion and cheer.

And then he heard her, calling to him from the other side of that wall. Her words were old, more ancient even than his. So he moved, as if walking under water, sliding through the nothingness towards her voice.

Somewhere along the way, his senses started to return, and he could see things, and hear more distinctly the call of his lover's voice.

And then he saw someone sitting alongside the path he travelled, glowing with a faint blue light that distinguished him from the gray blurs around them.

"Who are you?"

Imhotep faced the mirror image of himself. It still glowed. And it smiled at him and stood. Imhotep knew instantly what he was.

_My immortality._

It led Imhotep the rest of the way, to the edge of the abyss, where Amaya's voice was clear and distinct and inviting. And Imhotep turned and watched as his immortality dissolved into the physical body that was waiting for him on the other side. All that was left now was him, the soul.

He threw himself towards the voice of his goddess.

* * *

And awoke in her arms. He felt life trickling into his limbs, breath filling his lungs. He opened his eyes and her jade green gaze met his in silence. They were not in the bazaar anymore. How much time had passed? It didn't matter. Amaya was with him.

"I love you," he told her, voice breaking with lack of use. She smiled that breathtaking smile, and leaned down and pressed her lips softly against his. And when she leaned back, another beautiful smile appeared in his line of vision.

"Hi daddy," Azana said in a whisper, leaning over the hospital bed's guard rails to kiss him on the cheek. Her hair was a bit longer, but other than that, no significant signs of growth. Which meant that he'd only lost a few weeks, or months at worst.

"Three weeks," Amaya said. Imhotep grinned at her. "Coma," she added, lacing her fingers into his and giving his hand a squeeze. Her touch poured strength into his body. "I love you," she whispered. And she helped him sit up to view the sunny hospital room. He ignored the stiff muscles, and the ghost pain of his wounds. They didn't matter. He was alive, he had the woman he loved and the daughter he cherished at his side. And it was going to stay like that forever. So he looked over at mother and daughter and grinned.

"So how about that tour of Egypt?"


End file.
